I made this play for you. It is a question, for us to hold together.</p>
<p>Is all intimacy about bodies? What is it about our bodies that makes
intimacy? What happens when our bodies distance intimacy from us? This
small anthology of poems and short stories lives with these
questions—about having a body without intimacy and intimacy without a
body. This project is also a homage to everyone who has come before and
alongside me, sharing their vulnerability and emotions on the Internet.
I called the places where these things happen backplaces. They are
small, tender online rooms where people experiencing societally
uncomfortable pain can find relief, ease, and transcendence.<br/>
<p>Is all intimacy about bodies? What is it about our bodies that makes intimacy? What happens when our bodies distance intimacy from us? This small anthology of poems and short stories lives with these questions—about having a body without intimacy and intimacy without a body. This project is also a homage to everyone who has come before and alongside me, sharing their vulnerability and emotions on the Internet. I called the places where these things happen backplaces. They are small, tender online rooms where people experiencing societally uncomfortable pain can find relief, ease, and transcendence.<br/>
</p>
<p>I made three backplaces for you to see, click, and feel: Solar
Sibling, Hermit Fantasy, and Cake Intimacies. Each of these is the
result of its own unique performance or project. Some of the stories I
will share carry memories of pain—both physical and emotional. As you
sit in the audience, know I am with you, holding your hand through each
scene. If the performance feels overwhelming at any point, you have my
full permission to step out, take a break, or leave. This is not
choreographed, and I care deeply for you.<br/>
<p>I made three backplaces for you to see, click, and feel: Solar Sibling, Hermit Fantasy, and Cake Intimacies. Each of these is the result of its own unique performance or project. Some of the stories I will share carry memories of pain—both physical and emotional. As you sit in the audience, know I am with you, holding your hand through each scene. If the performance feels overwhelming at any point, you have my full permission to step out, take a break, or leave. This is not choreographed, and I care deeply for you.<br/>
</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="index.png"class="half-image"
alt="This is the Index, the stage of my play. Each felted item is an act." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">This is the Index, the stage of my play.
Each felted item is an act.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/index.png"alt="This is the Index, the stage of my play. Each felted item is an act."class="half-image"/><figcaption>This is the Index, the stage of my play. Each felted item is an act.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Solar Sibling is an online performance of shared loss about leaving
and siblings. This project used comments people left on TikTok poetry. I
extracted the emotions from these comments, mixed them with my own, and
crafted them into poems. It is an ongoing performance, ending only when
your feelings are secretly whispered to me. When you do, by typing into
the comment box, your feelings are sent to me and the first act closes
as the sun rises.<br/>
<p>Solar Sibling is an online performance of shared loss about leaving and siblings. This project used comments people left on TikTok poetry. I extracted the emotions from these comments, mixed them with my own, and crafted them into poems. It is an ongoing performance, ending only when your feelings are secretly whispered to me. When you do, by typing into the comment box, your feelings are sent to me and the first act closes as the sun rises.<br/>
</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="solar1.png"
alt="The initial comment shaped poems and their sun count." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The initial comment shaped poems and
their sun count.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/solar1.png"alt="The initial comment shaped poems and their sun count."/><figcaption>The initial comment shaped poems and their sun count.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="solar2.png"
alt="The fillable comment where you can whisper your feelings to me." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The fillable comment where you can
whisper your feelings to me.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/solar2.png"alt="The fillable comment where you can whisper your feelings to me."/><figcaption>The fillable comment where you can whisper your feelings to me.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Hermit Fantasy is a short story about a bot who wants to be a hermit.
Inspired by an email response from a survey I conducted about receiving
emotional support on the Internet, this story explores the contradiction
of being online while wanting to disconnect. As an act it’s a series of
letters, click by click.<br/>
<p>Hermit Fantasy is a short story about a bot who wants to be a hermit. Inspired by an email response from a survey I conducted about receiving emotional support on the Internet, this story explores the contradiction of being online while wanting to disconnect. As an act it’s a series of letters, click by click.<br/>
</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="hermit1.png"alt="The first letter."/>
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The first letter.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/hermit1.png"alt="The first letter."/><figcaption>The first letter.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="hermit2.png"class="image-80"alt="The second letter."/>
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The second letter.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/hermit2.png"alt="The second letter."class="image-80"/><figcaption>The second letter.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Cake Intimacies is a performance that took a year to bring together.
It is a small selection of stories people told me and I held to memory
and rewrote here. The stories come from two performances I hosted.
First, I asked participants to eat cake, sitting facing or away from
each other and sharing their stories about cake and the Internet. The
second performance was hosted at the Art Meets Radical Openness
Festival, as part of the Turning of the Internet workshop. For this
performance, I predicted participants’ future lives on the Internet
using felted archetypes and received stories from their Internet past in
return. Now the stories are here, each of them a cake with a filling
that tells a story, merging the bodily with the digital and making a
mess of it all.<br/>
<p>Cake Intimacies is a performance that took a year to bring together. It is a small selection of stories people told me and I held to memory and rewrote here. The stories come from two performances I hosted. First, I asked participants to eat cake, sitting facing or away from each other and sharing their stories about cake and the Internet. The second performance was hosted at the Art Meets Radical Openness Festival, as part of the Turning of the Internet workshop. For this performance, I predicted participants’ future lives on the Internet using felted archetypes and received stories from their Internet past in return. Now the stories are here, each of them a cake with a filling that tells a story, merging the bodily with the digital and making a mess of it all.<br/>
</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="cake1.png"
alt="The first two stories and their memory illustrations." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The first two stories and their memory
illustrations.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/cake1.png"alt="The first two stories and their memory illustrations."/><figcaption>The first two stories and their memory illustrations.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="cake2.png"class="full-image"
alt="The second stories in the way they were meant to be experienced." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The second stories in the way they were
meant to be experienced.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/cake2.png"alt="The second stories in the way they were meant to be experienced."class="image-80"/><figcaption>The second stories in the way they were meant to be experienced.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The play ends as all plays do. The curtains close, the website stays
but the stories will never sound the same. For the final act, I give you
the stories. It’s one last game, one last joke to ask my question again.
Digital intimacies about the digital, our bodies and the cakes we eat.
For the last act, I ask you to eat digital stories. To eat a comment, to
eat a digital intimacy. Sharing an act of physical intimacy with
yourself and with me, by eating sweets together. Sweets about digital
intimacies that never had a body. There is no moral, no bow to wrap the
story in. A great big mess of transcendence into the digital, of
intimacy and of bodies. The way it always is. Thankfully.<br/>
<p>The play ends as all plays do. The curtains close, the website stays but the stories will never sound the same. For the final act, I give you the stories. It’s one last game, one last joke to ask my question again. Digital intimacies about the digital, our bodies and the cakes we eat. For the last act, I ask you to eat digital stories. To eat a comment, to eat a digital intimacy. Sharing an act of physical intimacy with yourself and with me, by eating sweets together. Sweets about digital intimacies that never had a body. There is no moral, no bow to wrap the story in. A great big mess of transcendence into the digital, of intimacy and of bodies. The way it always is. Thankfully.<br/>
</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="biscuit.png"class="image-95"
alt="Accept My Cookies, biscuits for the performance." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Accept My Cookies, biscuits for the
performance.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../img/biscuit.png"alt="Accept My Cookies, biscuits for the performance."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Accept My Cookies, biscuits for the performance.</figcaption>
narrative exploration of <br>divergent digital intimacies</h3>
<divclass="h2-no-pagebreak">
A narrative exploration of <br>divergent digital intimacies
</div>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p>Water, stories, the body,<br/>
@ -45,50 +46,11 @@ hidden.<br />
(Rumi, 1995 translation)</p>
</blockquote>
<h2id="for-you">꙳for you</h2>
<p>All intimacy is about bodies. Is this true? Does it matter? I doubt
it. Do you know? Let’s find out, maybe.</p>
<p>Once, I thought that everything in the world was either one or zero
and that there was a harsh straight line between them. Then I found out
you could step or hop across the line, back and forth, if others showed
you how. Today, I am no less binary, no less interested in dichotomies,
but I am willing to dance through them if you are too. Can we dance
these dichotomies together, embracing the contradictions of the virtual
and physical, the comfortable and uncomfortable, intimate and
non-intimate? I can’t do it alone, the subject is too heavy and the
binary is too 1011000. I won’t ask you to resolve these contradictions,
I have no desire to. Instead, I hope we can cultivate the tension and
tenderness inherent in holding together incompatible truths because both
prove necessary.</p>
<p>To dance through these dichotomies I will start in a specific
position, growing from Donna Haraway’s in ’A Cyborg Manifesto”. In her
essay, Haraway explores the concept of a cyborg as a rejection of
boundaries between humans, animals, and machines. A symbol for a
feminist posthuman theory that embraces the plasticity of identity.
Before she does all this dancing, however, she takes a strong stance of
blasphemy. She engages seriously with traditional notions of feminism
and identity but with irony, not apostasy, which is to say without full
rejection—without unbelief. My position as I jump will be the same as
hers, ironic faith. My mocking is grave but caring and my primary aim is
for us only to spin fast enough not to see the line anymore, while still
being able to see the binaries. It won’t be an easy dance for us but I
will do my best to keep softening for you, I promise.</p>
<p>I will show you a digital body, make it comfortable and then
uncomfortable, lightly intimate, and richly intimate. I have my own
story, my own digital body, of course. This is where I take my second
stance, however. This time, the position is Lauren Berlant’s, from ‘The
Female Complaint’. The book places individual stories as inescapable
autobiographies of a collective experience and uses the personal to
explain an intimate general experience. In our story, the difference
between my body and the collective digital body is unimportant, I hope
you see that. I will tell you my story if you know how to look, but I
will tell you through the stories of many others who shared them with
me. I have no other choice, every time I have tried to tell this story a
chorus of voices has come out.</p>
<p>Some of the stories I will tell you will carry memories of pain;
physical and emotional. I will keep holding you while you hear this, but
your limbs may still feel too heavy to dance. In that case, I give you
my full permission to skip, jump, or lay down completely. This is not
choreographed and I care deeply for you.</p>
<p>All intimacy is about bodies. Is this true? Does it matter? I doubt it. Do you know? Let’s find out, maybe.</p>
<p>Once, I thought that everything in the world was either one or zero and that there was a harsh straight line between them. Then I found out you could step or hop across the line, back and forth, if others showed you how. Today, I am no less binary, no less interested in dichotomies, but I am willing to dance through them if you are too. Can we dance these dichotomies together, embracing the contradictions of the virtual and physical, the comfortable and uncomfortable, intimate and non-intimate? I can’t do it alone, the subject is too heavy and the binary is too 1011000. I won’t ask you to resolve these contradictions, I have no desire to. Instead, I hope we can cultivate the tension and tenderness inherent in holding together incompatible truths because both prove necessary.</p>
<p>To dance through these dichotomies I will start in a specific position, growing from Donna Haraway’s in ‘A Cyborg Manifesto”. In her essay, Haraway explores the concept of a cyborg as a rejection of boundaries between humans, animals, and machines. A symbol for a feminist posthuman theory that embraces the plasticity of identity. Before she does all this dancing, however, she takes a strong stance of blasphemy. She engages seriously with traditional notions of feminism and identity but with irony, not apostasy, which is to say without full rejection—without unbelief. My position as I jump will be the same as hers, ironic faith. My mocking is grave but caring and my primary aim is for us only to spin fast enough not to see the line anymore, while still being able to see the binaries. It won’t be an easy dance for us but I will do my best to keep softening for you, I promise.</p>
<p>I will show you a digital body, make it comfortable and then uncomfortable, lightly intimate, and richly intimate. I have my own story, my own digital body, of course. This is where I take my second stance, however. This time, the position is Lauren Berlant’s, from ‘The Female Complaint’. The book places individual stories as inescapable autobiographies of a collective experience and uses the personal to explain an intimate general experience. In our story, the difference between my body and the collective digital body is unimportant, I hope you see that. I will tell you my story if you know how to look, but I will tell you through the stories of many others who shared them with me. I have no other choice, every time I have tried to tell this story a chorus of voices has come out.</p>
<p>Some of the stories I will tell you will carry memories of pain; physical and emotional. I will keep holding you while you hear this, but your limbs may still feel too heavy to dance. In that case, I give you my full permission to skip, jump, or lay down completely. This is not choreographed and I care deeply for you.</p>
<p>I love you and hope you see what I saw in these stories.</p>
<p>Safe dreams now, I will talk to you soon.</p>
<h2id="digital-bodies">0. DIGITAL BODIES</h2>
@ -112,640 +74,168 @@ not to drown me.”<br />
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<h3id="a.-what-is-a-digital-body">a. what is a digital body?</h3>
<p>A digital body is a body on the Internet. A body outside the internet
is simply a body. On the internet, discussions about corporeality
transcend the limitations of physicality, shaping and reshaping
narratives surrounding the self. This text explores the intricate
dynamics within these conversations, dancing at the interplay between
tangible bodies and their digital counterparts. The construction of a
digital body is intricately intertwined with these online dialogues,
necessitating engaged reconstructions of the narratives surrounding
physical existence. Yet, the resulting digital body is a complex and
contradictory entity, embodying the nuances of both its virtual and
tangible origins.</p>
<p>There is a specific metaphor that would allow us to better carry
these contradictions as we further explore digital bodies. Do you
remember that dream you had about deep ocean pie? Allow me to remind
you.</p>
<p>You were walking on the shore, slowly, during a summer that happened
a long time ago. Your skin was warm and you could feel the wet cool sand
sticking to your feet. The gentle lapping of the waves washed the sand
away as you walked towards the ocean. You stepped, stepped. Then dove.
Underwater, the sea unfolded deeper than you remembered. It was a
vibrant display of life: bright schools of small fish, and tall
colorful, waving corals. It looked like that aquarium you saw once as a
kid. Your arms moved confusingly through the water as if you were wading
through a soup or were terribly tired. On the sandy ocean floor, you saw
a dining table. It had a floating white tablecloth, one plate, a fork,
and a pie in the center of it, on a serving dish. You sat on a chair but
could not feel it underneath you. You ate a heaping slice of pie. It had
a buttery-cooked carrots filling. You woke up. In the world, the sun was
still timid and your bedroom thick with sleep. What a weird dream. You
rubbed your face, sat up on your bed, and drank the glass of water next
to you. You felt full, as if you just ate a plateful of carrot pie.</p>
<p>There were two bodies in this story. An awake one and a dream one, an
ocean one. In dreams, bodies have their own set of rules, often blurring
the boundaries between waking and sleeping, wanting and fearing. Digital
bodies are very similar to dream bodies. They exhibit a similar fluidity
and abstraction, a defiance of traditional notions of physicality. They
share the blurring and inherent potential nature of dream bodies. They
are slower, stronger, and different. They switch and change and melt
into each other, they lose and regrow limbs, they run sluggishly and fly
smoothly. If we scream in our dreams, we sometimes wake up still
screaming. Our waking bodies react to our dream bodies, they have the
same tears, the same orgasms, the same drives.</p>
<p>This is a story of two bodies, same but different, influenced but not
driven. A tangible body, full of fluids and organs, emotions and
feelings. Cartilage, bacteria, bones, and nerve endings. A digital body,
cable-veined and loud-vented, shiny and loading.</p>
<p>The digital body is ethereal and abstracted, embarrassing, graphic,
and real but not physical.</p>
<p>A digital body is a body on the Internet. A body outside the internet is simply a body. On the internet, discussions about corporeality transcend the limitations of physicality, shaping and reshaping narratives surrounding the self. This text explores the intricate dynamics within these conversations, dancing at the interplay between tangible bodies and their digital counterparts. The construction of a digital body is intricately intertwined with these online dialogues, necessitating engaged reconstructions of the narratives surrounding physical existence. Yet, the resulting digital body is a complex and contradictory entity, embodying the nuances of both its virtual and tangible origins.</p>
<p>There is a specific metaphor that would allow us to better carry these contradictions as we further explore digital bodies. Do you remember that dream you had about deep ocean pie? Allow me to remind you.</p>
<p>You were walking on the shore, slowly, during a summer that happened a long time ago. Your skin was warm and you could feel the wet cool sand sticking to your feet. The gentle lapping of the waves washed the sand away as you walked towards the ocean. You stepped, stepped. Then dove. Underwater, the sea unfolded deeper than you remembered. It was a vibrant display of life: bright schools of small fish, and tall colorful, waving corals. It looked like that aquarium you saw once as a kid. Your arms moved confusingly through the water as if you were wading through a soup or were terribly tired. On the sandy ocean floor, you saw a dining table. It had a floating white tablecloth, one plate, a fork, and a pie in the center of it, on a serving dish. You sat on a chair but could not feel it underneath you. You ate a heaping slice of pie. It had a buttery-cooked carrots filling. You woke up. In the world, the sun was still timid and your bedroom thick with sleep. What a weird dream. You rubbed your face, sat up on your bed, and drank the glass of water next to you. You felt full, as if you just ate a plateful of carrot pie.</p>
<p>There were two bodies in this story. An awake one and a dream one, an ocean one. In dreams, bodies have their own set of rules, often blurring the boundaries between waking and sleeping, wanting and fearing. Digital bodies are very similar to dream bodies. They exhibit a similar fluidity and abstraction, a defiance of traditional notions of physicality. They share the blurring and inherent potential nature of dream bodies. They are slower, stronger, and different. They switch and change and melt into each other, they lose and regrow limbs, they run sluggishly and fly smoothly. If we scream in our dreams, we sometimes wake up still screaming. Our waking bodies react to our dream bodies, they have the same tears, the same orgasms, the same drives.</p>
<p>This is a story of two bodies, same but different, influenced but not driven. A tangible body, full of fluids and organs, emotions and feelings. Cartilage, bacteria, bones, and nerve endings. A digital body, cable-veined and loud-vented, shiny and loading.</p>
<p>The digital body is ethereal and abstracted, embarrassing, graphic, and real but not physical.</p>
<p>This is the beginning.</p>
<h3id="b.-body-vs.-computer">b. body vs.computer</h3>
<p>Framing the discourse around bodies on the internet as a clear-cut
dichotomy feels clunky in today’s internet landscape. The web is today
available by body, cyborg dimensions of the internet of bodies, or
virtual and augmented realities, creating a complex interplay between
having a body and existing online.</p>
<p>As intricate as this dance is now, it certainly did not begin that
way. It started with what felt like a very serious and tangible line
drawn by very serious tangible people; this is real life and this is
virtual life. Even people like Howard Rheingold, pioneers who approached
early virtual life with enthusiasm and care, couldn’t escape
characterizing it as a “bloodless technological ritual” (1993).
Rheingold was an early member of The Whole Earth ’Lectronic Link (Well),
a seminal virtual community built in the 1980s that was renowned for its
impact on digital culture and played a pivotal role in shaping what
would become the landscape of the Internet. Rheingold’s reflections on
his experience on this primordial soup of the Internet offer insight
into the initial conceptualizations of online life by those joyfully
participating.</p>
<p>In “The Virtual Community”, Rheingold offers a heartfelt tribute to
intimacy and affection through web- based interactions which, at the
time, were unheard of. He struggles in his efforts to highlight the
legitimacy of his connections, finding no way to do so except by
emphasizing their tangible bodily experiences. The community’s claim to
authenticity thus had to lie in the physical experiences of its members—
the visible bodies and hearable voices, the weddings, births, and
good. Would you feel closer to me if you could hear my voice? Is my
voice a sound? Could it be a feeling?</span></sup></p>
<p>Even then, and even by people with no interest in undermining the
value of the virtual, the distinction between physical and virtual was
confusing. Rheingold himself reinforces the boundary of body relations
and computer relations by referring to his family as a “flesh-and-blood
family’ and his close online friends as “unfamiliar faces” (1993).
Constantly interplaying digital connections with the physical
characteristics of the kind of connections people valued before the
internet.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">I will be honest with you, I
have little patience for this recurring line of thought that seeks to
distinguish people’s noses from their hearts, as if there was a physical
love that is the valuable one and a virtual imaginary one that is feeble
and unworthy.</span></sup></p>
<p>In any case, his primary interest seemed to be to emphasize computer
relations as valid forms of connection between bodies, not to talk of
any distinction quite yet. It’s the eighties, the internet is still
fresh and new and the possibility to form close relations with strangers
online seems fragile and concerning yet exciting. This is the clearest
the distinction between in-real-life and online has ever been and it’s
still fuzzy and unclear.</p>
<p>At the same time and in the same digital space as Rheingold, there
was another man, a digital body being formed. This is our second story,
the ocean body we dreamt of earlier is now in a digital primordial soup,
questioning itself and stuck between staying and leaving. In this story,
its name is Tom Mandel and when he died, he did so on the Well.</p>
<p>Mandel was a controversial and popular figure in this pioneering
virtual community. According to many other members, Tom Mandel embodied
the essence of the Well—its history, its voice, its attitude. Mandel’s
snarky and verbose provocations started heated discussions, earning him
warnings such as “Don’t Feed The Mandel!” (Leonard, 1995). His sharp
comments often stirred emotions that reminded people of family
arguments, fuelling an intimacy that was characteristic of the Well:
both public and solitary (Hafner, 1997).</p>
<p>Until 1995, Mandel had done a quite rigorous job of keeping his body
separate from The Well and had never attended any of the physical
in-person meetings from the community. His only references to being a
body had been on the “health” online conference, where he often talked
about his illnesses. One day, after nearly a decade of daily
interaction, he posted he had got the flu and that he felt quite ill.
When people wished for him to get well soon, he replied he had gone to
get tested and was waiting for a diagnosis. This way, when cancer was
found in his lungs, the community was first to know. In the following
six months, as his illness progressed, the community followed closely
(Hafner, 1997). They were first to know when Nana, a community member
with whom he had had a publicly turbulent relationship, flew to
California to marry him. The community was a witness and is now an
archive of his declining wit as cancer spread to his brain and his
famously articulate and scathing comments got shorter, fearful, and more
tender.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">Initially, when a member he often
argued with offered to pray for him Mandel had replied: “You can shovel
your self-aggrandizing sentiments up you wide ass sideways for the
duration as far as I’m concerned.” Later, as the cancer progressed: “I
ain’t nearly as brave as you all think. I am scared silly of the pain of
dying this way. I am not very good at playing saint. Pray for me,
please.</span></sup></p>
<p>Before he posted his final goodbye, he chose to do one last thing.
Together with another member, they programmed a bot that posted randomly
characteristic comments from Mandel on The Well—the Mandelbot. In the
topic he had opened to say goodbye, he posted this message about the
bot:</p>
<h3id="b.-body-vs.computer">b. body vs.computer</h3>
<p>Framing the discourse around bodies on the internet as a clear-cut dichotomy feels clunky in today’s internet landscape. The web is today available by body, cyborg dimensions of the internet of bodies, or virtual and augmented realities, creating a complex interplay between having a body and existing online.</p>
<p>As intricate as this dance is now, it certainly did not begin that way. It started with what felt like a very serious and tangible line drawn by very serious tangible people; this is real life and this is virtual life. Even people like Howard Rheingold, pioneers who approached early virtual life with enthusiasm and care, couldn’t escape characterizing it as a “bloodless technological ritual” (1993). Rheingold was an early member of The Whole Earth ‘Lectronic Link (Well), a seminal virtual community built in the 1980s that was renowned for its impact on digital culture and played a pivotal role in shaping what would become the landscape of the Internet. Rheingold’s reflections on his experience on this primordial soup of the Internet offer insight into the initial conceptualizations of online life by those joyfully participating.</p>
<p>In “The Virtual Community”, Rheingold offers a heartfelt tribute to intimacy and affection through web- based interactions which, at the time, were unheard of. He struggles in his efforts to highlight the legitimacy of his connections, finding no way to do so except by emphasizing their tangible bodily experiences. The community’s claim to authenticity thus had to lie in the physical experiences of its members— the visible bodies and hearable voices, the weddings, births, and funerals (1993).<sup><spanclass="margin-note">You’re dreaming again, good. Would you feel closer to me if you could hear my voice? Is my voice a sound? Could it be a feeling?</span></sup></p>
<p>Even then, and even by people with no interest in undermining the value of the virtual, the distinction between physical and virtual was confusing. Rheingold himself reinforces the boundary of body relations and computer relations by referring to his family as a “flesh-and-blood family’ and his close online friends as “unfamiliar faces” (1993). Constantly interplaying digital connections with the physical characteristics of the kind of connections people valued before the internet.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">I will be honest with you, I have little patience for this recurring line of thought that seeks to distinguish people’s noses from their hearts, as if there was a physical love that is the valuable one and a virtual imaginary one that is feeble and unworthy.</span></sup></p>
<p>In any case, his primary interest seemed to be to emphasize computer relations as valid forms of connection between bodies, not to talk of any distinction quite yet. It’s the eighties, the internet is still fresh and new and the possibility to form close relations with strangers online seems fragile and concerning yet exciting. This is the clearest the distinction between in-real-life and online has ever been and it’s still fuzzy and unclear.</p>
<p>At the same time and in the same digital space as Rheingold, there was another man, a digital body being formed. This is our second story, the ocean body we dreamt of earlier is now in a digital primordial soup, questioning itself and stuck between staying and leaving. In this story, its name is Tom Mandel and when he died, he did so on the Well.</p>
<p>Mandel was a controversial and popular figure in this pioneering virtual community. According to many other members, Tom Mandel embodied the essence of the Well—its history, its voice, its attitude. Mandel’s snarky and verbose provocations started heated discussions, earning him warnings such as “Don’t Feed The Mandel!” (Leonard, 1995). His sharp comments often stirred emotions that reminded people of family arguments, fuelling an intimacy that was characteristic of the Well: both public and solitary (Hafner, 1997).</p>
<p>Until 1995, Mandel had done a quite rigorous job of keeping his body separate from The Well and had never attended any of the physical in-person meetings from the community. His only references to being a body had been on the “health” online conference, where he often talked about his illnesses. One day, after nearly a decade of daily interaction, he posted he had got the flu and that he felt quite ill. When people wished for him to get well soon, he replied he had gone to get tested and was waiting for a diagnosis. This way, when cancer was found in his lungs, the community was first to know. In the following six months, as his illness progressed, the community followed closely (Hafner, 1997). They were first to know when Nana, a community member with whom he had had a publicly turbulent relationship, flew to California to marry him. The community was a witness and is now an archive of his declining wit as cancer spread to his brain and his famously articulate and scathing comments got shorter, fearful, and more tender.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">Initially, when a member he often argued with offered to pray for him Mandel had replied: “You can shovel your self-aggrandizing sentiments up you wide ass sideways for the duration as far as I’m concerned.” Later, as the cancer progressed: “I ain’t nearly as brave as you all think. I am scared silly of the pain of dying this way. I am not very good at playing saint. Pray for me, please.</span></sup></p>
<p>Before he posted his final goodbye, he chose to do one last thing. Together with another member, they programmed a bot that posted randomly characteristic comments from Mandel on The Well—the Mandelbot. In the topic he had opened to say goodbye, he posted this message about the bot:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“I had another motive in opening this topic to tell the truth, one
that winds its way through almost everything I’ve done online in the
five months since my cancer was diagnosed. I figured that, like everyone
else, my physical self wasn’t going to survive forever and I guess I was
going to have less time than actuarials allocateus [actually allocated].
But if I could reach out and touch everyone I knew on-line… I could toss
out bits and pieces of my virtual self and the memes that make up Tom
Mandel, and then when my body died, I wouldn’t really have to leave…
Large chunks of me would also be here, part of this new space.” (Hafner,
1997)</p>
<p>“I had another motive in opening this topic to tell the truth, one that winds its way through almost everything I’ve done online in the five months since my cancer was diagnosed. I figured that, like everyone else, my physical self wasn’t going to survive forever and I guess I was going to have less time than actuarials allocateus [actually allocated]. But if I could reach out and touch everyone I knew on-line… I could toss out bits and pieces of my virtual self and the memes that make up Tom Mandel, and then when my body died, I wouldn’t really have to leave… Large chunks of me would also be here, part of this new space.” (Hafner, 1997)</p>
</blockquote>
<p>With the Mandelbot, Mandel found a way to deal with what he later
called his grieving for the community, with which he could not play
anymore once his own body died. By doing so, he was starting to blend
the boundaries of intimacy through computers and bodies, driven by his
love and grief.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">It’s out of care and not
lack of relevance that I am not showing you Mandel’s goodbye message.
It’s enough to know he was deep in the grief of having to leave a
community he loved and cared for and that pain was felt in every
word.</span></sup></p>
<p>When he talked about the bot in previous messages, it sounded almost
like a joke. A caring haunting of the platform, to keep his persona
alive for the community in a way that could be quite horrific for those
grieving. In his admission though it becomes clear that this was closer
to an attempt to deal with his grief around losing the community, his
unreadiness to let go of a place he loved so dearly. A place just as
real in emotion, that was built in part by Mandel’s digital body and its
persona.</p>
<p>In a tribute posted after his death, fellow Well member and
journalist Andrew Leonard tried to convey his own sense of blended
physicality and emotion.</p>
<p>With the Mandelbot, Mandel found a way to deal with what he later called his grieving for the community, with which he could not play anymore once his own body died. By doing so, he was starting to blend the boundaries of intimacy through computers and bodies, driven by his love and grief.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">It’s out of care and not lack of relevance that I am not showing you Mandel’s goodbye message. It’s enough to know he was deep in the grief of having to leave a community he loved and cared for and that pain was felt in every word.</span></sup></p>
<p>When he talked about the bot in previous messages, it sounded almost like a joke. A caring haunting of the platform, to keep his persona alive for the community in a way that could be quite horrific for those grieving. In his admission though it becomes clear that this was closer to an attempt to deal with his grief around losing the community, his unreadiness to let go of a place he loved so dearly. A place just as real in emotion, that was built in part by Mandel’s digital body and its persona.</p>
<p>In a tribute posted after his death, fellow Well member and journalist Andrew Leonard tried to convey his own sense of blended physicality and emotion.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“Sneer all you want at the fleshlessness of online community, but on
this night, as tears stream down my face for the third straight evening,
it feels all too real.” (Andrew Leonard, 1995)</p>
<p>“Sneer all you want at the fleshlessness of online community, but on this night, as tears stream down my face for the third straight evening, it feels all too real.” (Andrew Leonard, 1995)</p>
</blockquote>
<h3id="c.-bot-feelings">c.bot-feelings</h3>
<h3id="c.-bot-feelings">c. bot-feelings</h3>
<p>An internet body has bot-feelings if allowed to. Let me explain.</p>
<p>A bot functions as a different entity from a cyborg, as it does not
attempt to emulate a human body but rather human action and readiness.
Its role is to mirror human behavior online, simulating how a physical
body might act, what it would click on, and what would it say. On social
media, bots engage in a kind of interpretative dance of human
interaction, performing based on instructions provided by
humans.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">The first bot communities on the
internet are now born, half- mistakenly. They are always spiritual
communities posting religious images created by artificial intelligence,
all the comments echoing choirs of bots praising. Amen, amen, amen. I am
not naive, I know they are built by humans but it is this performance of
religiosity that I am interested in, and how little humanity is shown in
it. It is something else.</span></sup></p>
<p>Unlike an internet body, which represents the virtual embodiment of a
person, a bot doesn’t seek to be a person. It comments under posts
alongside many other bots, all under a fake name and photo but nothing
else to give the illusion of humanity. When an internet body has
bot-feelings, it is a disruptive performance. They are feelings that do
not attempt to be human body feelings, they exist as their own genuine
virtual expression.</p>
<p>In “Virtual Intimacies”, McGlotten also incidentally argued that a
virtual body has bot-feelings (2013). He described the virtual as
potential, as a transcendent process of actualization, making it into,
generally, a description of bots. Internet bodies, as virtual, would be
by this understanding also charged with the constant immanent power to
act and to feel like a human body. It is a constant state of becoming,
of not- quite-pretending but never fully being anything either.</p>
<p>Most of the time we can tell disembodied bots online from tangible
people and as such they have the potential to be bodies, without ever
trying to be.</p>
<p>Of course, when McGlotten described the virtual as such he placed it
in a dichotomy, once again, against the “Intimacies” which are the other
side of his book. The emphasis here lies in intimacy being an embodied
feeling and sense and a carnal one at that. Virtual intimacies are, by
this definition, an inherent failed contradiction. However, McGlotten
plays with the real and non-real in new ways, using the text to
highlight how virtual intimacy is similar to physical intimacy and then,
even more, blurring as he shows the already virtual in physical
intimacies. Applying this to a body, rather than an affective
experience, works just the same.</p>
<p>McGlotten uses a conceptualization of the virtual based on the
philosopher Deleuze’s,<sup><spanclass="margin-note">A step in a step in
a step, sorry.</span></sup> which can be used to refer to a virtual body
as well. The virtual is in this case a cluster of waiting, dreaming, and
remembering, embodying potential. Something that is constantly becoming,
an object and also the subject attributed to it (2001). An internet body
with its bot-feelings is a body in the process of being one, acting as
one, an ideal of one beyond what is physical but including its
possibility.</p>
<p>Going a step further in McGlotten’s interpretation of Deleuze, this
also plays into how virtual intimacies mirror queer intimacies as they
approach normative ideals but “can never arrive at them”. Both queer and
virtual relations are imagined by a greater narrative as fantastical,
simulated, immaterial, and artificial—poor imitations and perversions of
a heterosexual, monogamous, and procreative marital partnership (2013).
A virtual body is similarly immanent, with both potential and corruption
at the same time. It carries all the neoliberal normative power of
freedom that a queer body can carry today but also reflects the unseemly
fleshly reality of having one.</p>
<p>This is where the story continues. The body from the dream ocean
leaves the primordial soup of the internet to stage a disruptive
performance. It moves from potential creation to a wild spring river. A
fluid being, that exists simultaneously inside and outside normative
constructions. It channels deviant feelings and transcendental opinions
about the collective’s physical form genuinely as people use it to
navigate their physicality. Both virtual and queer intimacies highlight
the constructed nature of identity and desire. They disrupt the notion
of a fixed, essential self, instead embracing the multiplicity and
complexity inherent in human experience. This destabilization of
identity opens up possibilities for self-expression and connection,
creating spaces where individuals can redefine themselves beyond the
constraints of societal expectations while still technically under its
watchful eye. In essence, the parallels between virtual and queer
intimacies underscore the radical potential of both to disrupt and
reimagine the norms that govern our understanding of relationships,
bodies, and identity. They invite us to question the rigid binaries and
hierarchies that structure our society and to embrace the fluidity and
possibility inherent in the human experience.</p>
<p>A bot functions as a different entity from a cyborg, as it does not attempt to emulate a human body but rather human action and readiness. Its role is to mirror human behavior online, simulating how a physical body might act, what it would click on, and what would it say. On social media, bots engage in a kind of interpretative dance of human interaction, performing based on instructions provided by humans.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">The first bot communities on the internet are now born, half- mistakenly. They are always spiritual communities posting religious images created by artificial intelligence, all the comments echoing choirs of bots praising. Amen, amen, amen. I am not naive, I know they are built by humans but it is this performance of religiosity that I am interested in, and how little humanity is shown in it. It is something else.</span></sup></p>
<p>Unlike an internet body, which represents the virtual embodiment of a person, a bot doesn’t seek to be a person. It comments under posts alongside many other bots, all under a fake name and photo but nothing else to give the illusion of humanity. When an internet body has bot-feelings, it is a disruptive performance. They are feelings that do not attempt to be human body feelings, they exist as their own genuine virtual expression.</p>
<p>In “Virtual Intimacies”, McGlotten also incidentally argued that a virtual body has bot-feelings (2013). He described the virtual as potential, as a transcendent process of actualization, making it into, generally, a description of bots. Internet bodies, as virtual, would be by this understanding also charged with the constant immanent power to act and to feel like a human body. It is a constant state of becoming, of not- quite-pretending but never fully being anything either.</p>
<p>Most of the time we can tell disembodied bots online from tangible people and as such they have the potential to be bodies, without ever trying to be.</p>
<p>Of course, when McGlotten described the virtual as such he placed it in a dichotomy, once again, against the “Intimacies” which are the other side of his book. The emphasis here lies in intimacy being an embodied feeling and sense and a carnal one at that. Virtual intimacies are, by this definition, an inherent failed contradiction. However, McGlotten plays with the real and non-real in new ways, using the text to highlight how virtual intimacy is similar to physical intimacy and then, even more, blurring as he shows the already virtual in physical intimacies. Applying this to a body, rather than an affective experience, works just the same.</p>
<p>McGlotten uses a conceptualization of the virtual based on the philosopher Deleuze’s,<sup><spanclass="margin-note">A step in a step in a step, sorry.</span></sup> which can be used to refer to a virtual body as well. The virtual is in this case a cluster of waiting, dreaming, and remembering, embodying potential. Something that is constantly becoming, an object and also the subject attributed to it (2001). An internet body with its bot-feelings is a body in the process of being one, acting as one, an ideal of one beyond what is physical but including its possibility.</p>
<p>Going a step further in McGlotten’s interpretation of Deleuze, this also plays into how virtual intimacies mirror queer intimacies as they approach normative ideals but “can never arrive at them”. Both queer and virtual relations are imagined by a greater narrative as fantastical, simulated, immaterial, and artificial—poor imitations and perversions of a heterosexual, monogamous, and procreative marital partnership (2013). A virtual body is similarly immanent, with both potential and corruption at the same time. It carries all the neoliberal normative power of freedom that a queer body can carry today but also reflects the unseemly fleshly reality of having one.</p>
<p>This is where the story continues. The body from the dream ocean leaves the primordial soup of the internet to stage a disruptive performance. It moves from potential creation to a wild spring river. A fluid being, that exists simultaneously inside and outside normative constructions. It channels deviant feelings and transcendental opinions about the collective’s physical form genuinely as people use it to navigate their physicality. Both virtual and queer intimacies highlight the constructed nature of identity and desire. They disrupt the notion of a fixed, essential self, instead embracing the multiplicity and complexity inherent in human experience. This destabilization of identity opens up possibilities for self-expression and connection, creating spaces where individuals can redefine themselves beyond the constraints of societal expectations while still technically under its watchful eye. In essence, the parallels between virtual and queer intimacies underscore the radical potential of both to disrupt and reimagine the norms that govern our understanding of relationships, bodies, and identity. They invite us to question the rigid binaries and hierarchies that structure our society and to embrace the fluidity and possibility inherent in the human experience.</p>
<h2id="digital-comfort">1.DIGITAL COMFORT</h2>
<blockquote>
<p>The only laws: Be radiant. Be heavy. Be green.</p>
<p>The only laws:<br/>
Be radiant.<br/>
Be heavy.<br/>
Be green.<br/>
</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>Tonight, the dead light up your mind like an image of your mind on a
scientist’s screen. ‘The scientists don’t know – and too much.’</p>
<p>Tonight, the dead light up your mind<br/>
like an image of your mind on a scientist’s screen.<br/>
‘The scientists don’t know – and too much.’<br/>
</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>“In the town square, in the heart of night (a delicacy like the heart
of an artichoke), a man dances cheek-to-cheek with the infinite
blue.”<br/>
<p>"In the town square, in the heart of night (a delicacy like the heart of an artichoke), a man dances cheek-to-cheek with the infinite blue.<br/>
(Schwartz, 2022)</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<h3id="a.-comfort-care">a. comfort care</h3>
<p>Let’s care for this digital body. I’ll feed it virtual vegetables
while you wipe away the wear of battery fatigue. And why not encourage
it to take strolls through the network, it might be good for it.</p>
<p>But what if it falls ill? What if its sickness is inherent, designed
to echo like the distorted reflection of rippling water a corrupted,
isolated, and repulsive physical form? Then we must comfort care for
it.</p>
<p>Comfort care is a key concept in healthcare, described as an art. It
is the simple but not easy art of performing comforting actions by a
nurse for a patient (Kolcaba, 1995). The nurse is in this story an
artist full of intention, using the medium of comforting actions to
produce the artwork of comfort for the uncomfortable. Subtle,
subjective, and thorough. However, achieving comfort for another is far
from straightforward. It demands addressing not only the physical but
also the psychospiritual, environmental, and socio-cultural dimensions
of distress, each requiring its blend of relief, ease, and transcendence
(Kolcaba, 1995).</p>
<p>In moments of need, digital comfort may become the only care certain
digressive bodies receive. When the distress a body is in becomes too
culturally uncomfortable, no nurse will come to check on it.</p>
<p>If care is offered, it’s often only with a desire to assimilate the
divergent body back into expected standards of normalcy and ability.
This leaves those with non-conforming bodies isolated, ashamed, and
yearning for connection and acceptance.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">I
am talking here about the distress caused by mental health issues that
have direct connections to physicality—self- injuring in any direct
form; food, drugs, pain. The culturally uncomfortable diseases, the
it’s- personal- responsibility, and just-stop disorders. This is a
hidden topic of this text because I cared more about the pain
surrounding them and the reasons to hide rather than the grim
physicality of them all.</span></sup></p>
<p>In the depths of isolation and confusion, marginalized bodies often
look for belonging and understanding online. Gravitating towards one
another with a hunger born of desperation, forming intimate bonds
through shared pain. Through a shared sense of unwillingness, a lack of
desire, and a desperate need for physical assimilation with the
norm.</p>
<p>Let’s care for this digital body. I’ll feed it virtual vegetables while you wipe away the wear of battery fatigue. And why not encourage it to take strolls through the network, it might be good for it.</p>
<p>But what if it falls ill? What if its sickness is inherent, designed to echo like the distorted reflection of rippling water a corrupted, isolated, and repulsive physical form? Then we must comfort care for it.</p>
<p>Comfort care is a key concept in healthcare, described as an art. It is the simple but not easy art of performing comforting actions by a nurse for a patient (Kolcaba, 1995). The nurse is in this story an artist full of intention, using the medium of comforting actions to produce the artwork of comfort for the uncomfortable. Subtle, subjective, and thorough. However, achieving comfort for another is far from straightforward. It demands addressing not only the physical but also the psychospiritual, environmental, and socio-cultural dimensions of distress, each requiring its blend of relief, ease, and transcendence (Kolcaba, 1995).</p>
<p>In moments of need, digital comfort may become the only care certain digressive bodies receive. When the distress a body is in becomes too culturally uncomfortable, no nurse will come to check on it.</p>
<p>If care is offered, it’s often only with a desire to assimilate the divergent body back into expected standards of normalcy and ability. This leaves those with non-conforming bodies isolated, ashamed, and yearning for connection and acceptance.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">I am talking here about the distress caused by mental health issues that have direct connections to physicality—self- injuring in any direct form; food, drugs, pain. The culturally uncomfortable diseases, the it’s- personal- responsibility, and just-stop disorders. This is a hidden topic of this text because I cared more about the pain surrounding them and the reasons to hide rather than the grim physicality of them all.</span></sup></p>
<p>In the depths of isolation and confusion, marginalized bodies often look for belonging and understanding online. Gravitating towards one another with a hunger born of desperation, forming intimate bonds through shared pain. Through a shared sense of unwillingness, a lack of desire, and a desperate need for physical assimilation with the norm.</p>
<p>The healthy body, the normal body, the loved body.</p>
<p>On the internet, these digital bodies claw onto each other, holding
each other close and comfort-caring for one another. The spaces where
this happens are rooms, or corners of the internet that I’ll call back
places. Back places were initially defined by the sociologist Goffman as
symbolic spaces where stigmatized people did not need to hide their
stigma(1963). In our story, backplaces are small rooms online, tender
soft spaces reserved by those in terrible psychological pain themselves,
where they can find relief, ease, and transcendence.</p>
<p>Of course, when we speak of digital bodies, their physicality is not
relevant. To comfort care for a digital body one would thus need to
provide relief, ease, and transcendence for the mental, emotional, and
spiritual; through the digital environment of the body and the
interpersonal cultural relations of the individual. As with any place of
healing, however, it is a transient place. It is an achy place, for the
last step of the journey will see them leave the community and
compassion that saw and sustained them.</p>
<p>On the internet, these digital bodies claw onto each other, holding each other close and comfort-caring for one another. The spaces where this happens are rooms, or corners of the internet that I’ll call back places. Back places were initially defined by the sociologist Goffman as symbolic spaces where stigmatized people did not need to hide their stigma(1963). In our story, backplaces are small rooms online, tender soft spaces reserved by those in terrible psychological pain themselves, where they can find relief, ease, and transcendence.</p>
<p>Of course, when we speak of digital bodies, their physicality is not relevant. To comfort care for a digital body one would thus need to provide relief, ease, and transcendence for the mental, emotional, and spiritual; through the digital environment of the body and the interpersonal cultural relations of the individual. As with any place of healing, however, it is a transient place. It is an achy place, for the last step of the journey will see them leave the community and compassion that saw and sustained them.</p>
<p>There is no other way for divergent people.</p>
<p>In the past and the present, social scientists have studied the
people in the corners of the internet, characterizing these spaces
between people as deviant. Like children lifting stones to look at the
bugs underneath— simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by the coherence
discovered where once was separation. A partition that was then
reinforced by the scientists themselves as they began documenting the
bugs’ behavior. They eavesdropped on conversations, captured intimate
moments, and asked again and again what made them so different. The more
they probed, the more they made sure to separate their behavior from the
norm to place the deviants against (Adler and Adler, 2005, 2008; Smith,
Wickes & Underwood, 2013).</p>
<p>The concept of deviance, particularly concerning what people do with
their bodies and how their bodies behave, I find inherently flawed.
Observing from an artificial external standpoint only serves to further
alienate those already marginalized. I like to approach my research into
the intimacy and comfort care expressed in marginalized digital
communities without the alienation of social science. There are many
approaches one can take if one wishes to avoid this, and the one I am
choosing to borrow is a mathematical approach to anthropology. I would
like to borrow from mathematician Jörn Dunkel’s work in pattern
formation. It’s a conscious choice to approach divergences in bodily
behavior through their similarities, not differences. This includes
specificities in atypicality, of course, but also the distinctions
between me as the writer and them as the writer. You as the reader and
you as the community. Me and you, as a whole. Both exist, both separate
but in what is not of such importance.</p>
<p>In the past and the present, social scientists have studied the people in the corners of the internet, characterizing these spaces between people as deviant. Like children lifting stones to look at the bugs underneath— simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by the coherence discovered where once was separation. A partition that was then reinforced by the scientists themselves as they began documenting the bugs’ behavior. They eavesdropped on conversations, captured intimate moments, and asked again and again what made them so different. The more they probed, the more they made sure to separate their behavior from the norm to place the deviants against (Adler and Adler, 2005, 2008; Smith, Wickes & Underwood, 2013).</p>
<p>The concept of deviance, particularly concerning what people do with their bodies and how their bodies behave, I find inherently flawed. Observing from an artificial external standpoint only serves to further alienate those already marginalized. I like to approach my research into the intimacy and comfort care expressed in marginalized digital communities without the alienation of social science. There are many approaches one can take if one wishes to avoid this, and the one I am choosing to borrow is a mathematical approach to anthropology. I would like to borrow from mathematician Jörn Dunkel’s work in pattern formation. It’s a conscious choice to approach divergences in bodily behavior through their similarities, not differences. This includes specificities in atypicality, of course, but also the distinctions between me as the writer and them as the writer. You as the reader and you as the community. Me and you, as a whole. Both exist, both separate but in what is not of such importance.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“Though many of these systems are different, fundamentally, we can
see similarities in the structure of their data. It’s very easy to find
differences. What’s more interesting is to find out what’s
similar.”<br/>
<p>“Though many of these systems are different, fundamentally, we can see similarities in the structure of their data. It’s very easy to find differences. What’s more interesting is to find out what’s similar.”<br/>
(Chu & Dunkel, 2021)</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Individuals who forge and inhabit these communities, fostering
tender, intimate connections amongst themselves, are not deviant but
rather divergent. Deviance involves bifurcation, a split estuary from
the river of appropriate cultural behavior.<sup><span
class="margin-note">Of course, the river itself is not a river; it’s
many confused streams that believe themselves both the same and
separate. I don’t know where I’m going with this, I just don’t love the
river of normativity and I’d rather go swim in the ocean of dreams with
you.</span></sup></p>
<p>Divergence can be so much more than that. In mathematics, a divergent
series extends infinitely without converging to a finite limit. A
repetition of partial sums with no clear ending, never reaching zero.
Mathematician Niels Abel once said that “divergent series are in general
something fatal and it is a shame to base any proof on them. [..] The
most essential part of mathematics has no foundation”(1826). Drawing a
parallel to social relations would then imply that there is no end to
divergence, too many paradoxes in the foundation of normativeness to
base anything on it.</p>
<p>Harmonic series are, on the other hand, also divergent series. They
are infinite series formed by the summation of all positive unit
fractions, named after music harmonics. The wavelengths of a vibrating
string are a harmonic series. These series also find application in
architecture, establishing harmonious relationships. Despite their
integral role in human aesthetics, all harmonic series diverge,
perpetually expanding without ever concluding. They embody a richness
that transcends conventional boundaries, blending into one another
infinitely.</p>
<p>Individuals who forge and inhabit these communities, fostering tender, intimate connections amongst themselves, are not deviant but rather divergent. Deviance involves bifurcation, a split estuary from the river of appropriate cultural behavior.<sup><spanclass="margin-note">Of course, the river itself is not a river; it’s many confused streams that believe themselves both the same and separate. I don’t know where I’m going with this, I just don’t love the river of normativity and I’d rather go swim in the ocean of dreams with you.</span></sup></p>
<p>Divergence can be so much more than that. In mathematics, a divergent series extends infinitely without converging to a finite limit. A repetition of partial sums with no clear ending, never reaching zero. Mathematician Niels Abel once said that “divergent series are in general something fatal and it is a shame to base any proof on them. [..] The most essential part of mathematics has no foundation”(1826). Drawing a parallel to social relations would then imply that there is no end to divergence, too many paradoxes in the foundation of normativeness to base anything on it.</p>
<p>Harmonic series are, on the other hand, also divergent series. They are infinite series formed by the summation of all positive unit fractions, named after music harmonics. The wavelengths of a vibrating string are a harmonic series. These series also find application in architecture, establishing harmonious relationships. Despite their integral role in human aesthetics, all harmonic series diverge, perpetually expanding without ever concluding. They embody a richness that transcends conventional boundaries, blending into one another infinitely.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../images/Harmonic-series.png"
alt="Figure 1 - Harmonic Series to 32 (Hyacint,2017)." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Figure 1 - Harmonic Series to 32
(Hyacint,2017).</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../images/Harmonic-series.png"alt="Figure 1 - Harmonic Series to 32 (Hyacint,2017)."/><figcaption>Figure 1 - Harmonic Series to 32 (Hyacint,2017).</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>By likening digital bodies to divergent series, we embrace the
complexity and infinite possibilities arising from their
interconnectedness and deviation from the norm. However, it’s crucial to
note that the divergence I’m discussing here carries a halo of pain,
accompanied by the requirement of bodily discomfort. There are other
forms of divergence, ways to have different bodies that necessitate
creating spaciousness around normativity to allow them grace to
grow.</p>
<p>The divergent digital bodies we are dancing with and caring for,
however, are of a particular type. If we were to go back to our water
stories, we’d see that the digital bodies we are following are painful
ones. Cold, deep streams, hard to follow, hard to swim in. Their
divergence from the norm makes them so.</p>
<p>They have intricate relationships with themselves, existing in
unstainable forms devoid of comfort, nourishment, or thriving. What does
comfort mean for a body whose whole existence is uncomfortable?
Moreover, what if the comfort care performed for these divergent bodies
makes them too comfortable being in their pained state of self? Could
they be?<sup><spanclass="margin-note">I heard the idea of living
questions for the first time in “Letters to A Young Poet” by Rainer
Maria Rilke and then again on the podcast On Being with Krista Tippet.
It may be a bit transparent but this entire text is informed by the
concept of keeping the unsolved in your heart and learning to love it.
Not searching for the answers for we cannot live them yet. The point is
to live it all. It could be that at some point we will live our way to
an answer but it is feeling the questions alive within us that is
important. Do you?</span></sup></p>
<p>Caring for a digital body involves providing it with space to live,
giving its experimental bot-feelings tender attention, and revealing
your own vulnerable digital body in response. It’s about giving it an
audience, hands to hold, eyes that meet theirs in understanding. A
rehearsal room, a pillow, a mirror. These rooms, backplaces scattered
across the internet, are hidden enough to allow the divergent to
comfort- care for one another, sometimes to the point where it is only
the same type of divergent digital bodies reflecting back at each
other.</p>
<p>So far I have talked fondly of divergence and the harmony of
divergent series, and the need to have no finite ending. I’d like to
tell you a different story now. Divergent digital bodies are, by this
point in our text, built and alive as they can be. They are many, they
are together and seeing each other, producing harmonic waves. They are
in backplaces on the internet, but they are less safe than they seem.
They are themselves resonant echo chambers, with an ongoing risk of
catastrophic acoustic resonance.</p>
<p>Acoustic resonance is what happens when an acoustic system amplifies
sound waves whose frequency matches one of its natural frequencies of
vibration. The instrument of amplification is important for the harmonic
series, for the music must not match exactly. An exact match will break
it for the object seeks out its resonance. Resonating at the precise
resonant frequency of a glass will shatter it. Digital bodies meet in
these rooms, amplifying their own waves seeking resonance but the risk
of an exact match is that it may shatter them. These spaces full of
divergent digital bodies quickly grow unstable, tethering echo chambers.
Rooms full of reflections, transforming what was once individual pain
into a mirrored loop of anguish. Caring for your own and others’ bodies
becomes increasingly difficult, making permanent residence in the mirror
room unbearable. You all know you must leave before you meet your exact
<p>This is the end of the story. Our digital bodies have a shape, a
sense of life and death, and someone to care for us and to care for. We
are alive and have found intimacy with each other.</p>
<p>We live in the backplaces, hiding and being hidden online as we have
been for years. We used to be on invitation-only forums,
password-protected bulletin boards, or encrypted hashtags. Now we are
alive in the glitches between pixels, in a shared language of numbers
and acronyms and misdirection. Avoiding a content moderation algorithm,
always hunting the dashboards of social media websites for visible pain
it can cure by erasure. We cannot tell you where to find you or it might
too. We try to stay alive, to hold each other, hiding behind code words,
fake names, and photos. We care for each other as best we can, the blind
leading the blind, the sick caring for the sick. We have brought our
unseemliness, our gory gross bodies to each other and found tender
intimacy and understanding.</p>
<p>On good days, dashboards are full of goodbyes and my heart swells
with hope, for those of us who make it and for the small bright light
telling us that we may be one of them. At the same time, some of us
leave only to come back ghosts of ourselves, hunting threads with the
empty hope of missionaries.</p>
<p>By likening digital bodies to divergent series, we embrace the complexity and infinite possibilities arising from their interconnectedness and deviation from the norm. However, it’s crucial to note that the divergence I’m discussing here carries a halo of pain, accompanied by the requirement of bodily discomfort. There are other forms of divergence, ways to have different bodies that necessitate creating spaciousness around normativity to allow them grace to grow.</p>
<p>The divergent digital bodies we are dancing with and caring for, however, are of a particular type. If we were to go back to our water stories, we’d see that the digital bodies we are following are painful ones. Cold, deep streams, hard to follow, hard to swim in. Their divergence from the norm makes them so.</p>
<p>They have intricate relationships with themselves, existing in unstainable forms devoid of comfort, nourishment, or thriving. What does comfort mean for a body whose whole existence is uncomfortable? Moreover, what if the comfort care performed for these divergent bodies makes them too comfortable being in their pained state of self? Could they be?<sup><spanclass="margin-note">I heard the idea of living questions for the first time in “Letters to A Young Poet” by Rainer Maria Rilke and then again on the podcast On Being with Krista Tippet. It may be a bit transparent but this entire text is informed by the concept of keeping the unsolved in your heart and learning to love it. Not searching for the answers for we cannot live them yet. The point is to live it all. It could be that at some point we will live our way to an answer but it is feeling the questions alive within us that is important. Do you?</span></sup></p>
<p>Caring for a digital body involves providing it with space to live, giving its experimental bot-feelings tender attention, and revealing your own vulnerable digital body in response. It’s about giving it an audience, hands to hold, eyes that meet theirs in understanding. A rehearsal room, a pillow, a mirror. These rooms, backplaces scattered across the internet, are hidden enough to allow the divergent to comfort- care for one another, sometimes to the point where it is only the same type of divergent digital bodies reflecting back at each other.</p>
<p>So far I have talked fondly of divergence and the harmony of divergent series, and the need to have no finite ending. I’d like to tell you a different story now. Divergent digital bodies are, by this point in our text, built and alive as they can be. They are many, they are together and seeing each other, producing harmonic waves. They are in backplaces on the internet, but they are less safe than they seem. They are themselves resonant echo chambers, with an ongoing risk of catastrophic acoustic resonance.</p>
<p>Acoustic resonance is what happens when an acoustic system amplifies sound waves whose frequency matches one of its natural frequencies of vibration. The instrument of amplification is important for the harmonic series, for the music must not match exactly. An exact match will break it for the object seeks out its resonance. Resonating at the precise resonant frequency of a glass will shatter it. Digital bodies meet in these rooms, amplifying their own waves seeking resonance but the risk of an exact match is that it may shatter them. These spaces full of divergent digital bodies quickly grow unstable, tethering echo chambers. Rooms full of reflections, transforming what was once individual pain into a mirrored loop of anguish. Caring for your own and others’ bodies becomes increasingly difficult, making permanent residence in the mirror room unbearable. You all know you must leave before you meet your exact resonance.</p>
<p>This is the end of the story. Our digital bodies have a shape, a sense of life and death, and someone to care for us and to care for. We are alive and have found intimacy with each other.</p>
<p>We live in the backplaces, hiding and being hidden online as we have been for years. We used to be on invitation-only forums, password-protected bulletin boards, or encrypted hashtags. Now we are alive in the glitches between pixels, in a shared language of numbers and acronyms and misdirection. Avoiding a content moderation algorithm, always hunting the dashboards of social media websites for visible pain it can cure by erasure. We cannot tell you where to find you or it might too. We try to stay alive, to hold each other, hiding behind code words, fake names, and photos. We care for each other as best we can, the blind leading the blind, the sick caring for the sick. We have brought our unseemliness, our gory gross bodies to each other and found tender intimacy and understanding.</p>
<p>On good days, dashboards are full of goodbyes and my heart swells with hope, for those of us who make it and for the small bright light telling us that we may be one of them. At the same time, some of us leave only to come back ghosts of ourselves, hunting threads with the empty hope of missionaries.</p>
<p>Don’t give up, it’s worth it!</p>
<p>Most of us scoff at this. The idea of leaving only to come back and
tell people you left is uncomfortable, the failed progress that washes
away hope. A healed patient who regularly comes back to the hospital to
encourage the sick, who wish to be anywhere but there. The genuine love
and care within these communities transpire better under goodbye posts.
When people do heal and shed their accounts’ skin, they often leave it
surrounded by all those who once cared for the digital body within
it.</p>
<p>Most of us scoff at this. The idea of leaving only to come back and tell people you left is uncomfortable, the failed progress that washes away hope. A healed patient who regularly comes back to the hospital to encourage the sick, who wish to be anywhere but there. The genuine love and care within these communities transpire better under goodbye posts. When people do heal and shed their accounts’ skin, they often leave it surrounded by all those who once cared for the digital body within it.</p>
<p>I’m so proud of you! Never come back, we love you so much.</p>
<p>Recover, don’t come back. Recover, don’t come back. Recover, never
come back.</p>
<p>I had a conversation with a friend who once lived in these spaces
between letters but has since moved outside them. When asked, he
mentioned he could only find recovery by leaving that community. His
body has changed since now it is the spitting image of a standard,
healthy body. I didn’t ask, but he knew I’d wonder. He told me he didn’t
like his new body and preferred the divergent one he once built himself.
Why leave then? Why did you stop?</p>
<p>Recover, don’t come back. Recover, don’t come back. Recover, never come back.</p>
<p>I had a conversation with a friend who once lived in these spaces between letters but has since moved outside them. When asked, he mentioned he could only find recovery by leaving that community. His body has changed since now it is the spitting image of a standard, healthy body. I didn’t ask, but he knew I’d wonder. He told me he didn’t like his new body and preferred the divergent one he once built himself. Why leave then? Why did you stop?</p>
<p>Because that was no life.</p>
<p>Now life sparkles, everything feels brighter and more exciting. I got
my will to live back. Before, there was nothing but my body. I was
willing to die for it.</p>
<p>He pulls up the sleeve of his shirt to show me his shoulder, where he
has tattooed a symbol for a community friend who died.</p>
<p>Now life sparkles, everything feels brighter and more exciting. I got my will to live back. Before, there was nothing but my body. I was willing to die for it.</p>
<p>He pulls up the sleeve of his shirt to show me his shoulder, where he has tattooed a symbol for a community friend who died.</p>
<p>I hope I never go back. I miss them every day.</p>
<p>This is the last dichotomy. For the divergent digital body can’t stay
in a Backplace for very long, the intimacy of it is unbearable. It is an
intimacy that floods, and overruns. In their definition of intimacy in
the context of a public surrounding a cultural phenomenon, the author
Lauren Berlant denotes that intimacy itself always requires hopeful
imagination. It requires belief in the existence of an ideal other who
is emotionally attuned to one’s own experiences and fantasies,
conditioned by the same longings and with willing reciprocity
(2008).<sup><spanclass="margin-note">If we were to be honest, the
entire exercise of writing this for you requires this very
faith.</span></sup></p>
<p>In the context of the intimacy of a Backplace, where divergent
digital bodies have formed a community around existing outside the
healthy and standard, longing and hopeful intimacy becomes a heavy-
hearted and cardinal concept. Being in these rooms and finding care and
love for others like you can be so uncomfortable when the longings,
experiences, and fantasies you are sharing are centered around pain. The
shared cultural experience of existing as a collective divergent digital
body promises a fantasy of belonging, a collective hope, and commitment
that is extremely fragile.</p>
<p>There is a duality then, if not a dichotomy. As a divergent body,
there is nothing you crave more than to be seen and to be loved in a
space where you are safe, where the faces looking at you are not
repulsed but warm with familiarity. Yet, it is this very warmth that
becomes unbearable and an inherently traumatic intimacy. Being loved at
your worst, at your most embarrassing, cultural borderline self is an
agonizing duality to deal with. McGlotten, who was referenced earlier
concerning the potential of bot-feelings of a digital body, now comes
back to remind us of their impossibility. In his book, he talks of a
digital intimacy that inundates us and is both a source of connection
and disconnection (McGlotten, 2013). We are looking at a smaller scale
than he does, but intimacy in the context of shared vulnerability can be
a need just as intolerable.</p>
<p>Certain kinds of witnessing can become curses, shivers of resonance
so close to an explosion of glass if only you strike the cord that will
keep me going. Certain kinds of divergence can only end with leaving or
death, truth be told. People in these bodies know this, even if the
digital bodies behave as if there is hope in a future where the
divergence brings joy to one’s life consistently. The shared
vulnerability itself then, is unbearable. I need you to see me, I need
you, who are just like me at my worst, to love me. When you do, I can’t
stand it. It ruins both of us to be seen this way and we need it so
desperately. It has to exist and yet it can’t for long.</p>
<p>I leave even though I love all of your digital bodies. I leave
because I love you, little digital body and you are me.</p>
<p>This is the last dichotomy. For the divergent digital body can’t stay in a Backplace for very long, the intimacy of it is unbearable. It is an intimacy that floods, and overruns. In their definition of intimacy in the context of a public surrounding a cultural phenomenon, the author Lauren Berlant denotes that intimacy itself always requires hopeful imagination. It requires belief in the existence of an ideal other who is emotionally attuned to one’s own experiences and fantasies, conditioned by the same longings and with willing reciprocity (2008).<sup><spanclass="margin-note">If we were to be honest, the entire exercise of writing this for you requires this very faith.</span></sup></p>
<p>In the context of the intimacy of a Backplace, where divergent digital bodies have formed a community around existing outside the healthy and standard, longing and hopeful intimacy becomes a heavy- hearted and cardinal concept. Being in these rooms and finding care and love for others like you can be so uncomfortable when the longings, experiences, and fantasies you are sharing are centered around pain. The shared cultural experience of existing as a collective divergent digital body promises a fantasy of belonging, a collective hope, and commitment that is extremely fragile.</p>
<p>There is a duality then, if not a dichotomy. As a divergent body, there is nothing you crave more than to be seen and to be loved in a space where you are safe, where the faces looking at you are not repulsed but warm with familiarity. Yet, it is this very warmth that becomes unbearable and an inherently traumatic intimacy. Being loved at your worst, at your most embarrassing, cultural borderline self is an agonizing duality to deal with. McGlotten, who was referenced earlier concerning the potential of bot-feelings of a digital body, now comes back to remind us of their impossibility. In his book, he talks of a digital intimacy that inundates us and is both a source of connection and disconnection (McGlotten, 2013). We are looking at a smaller scale than he does, but intimacy in the context of shared vulnerability can be a need just as intolerable.</p>
<p>Certain kinds of witnessing can become curses, shivers of resonance so close to an explosion of glass if only you strike the cord that will keep me going. Certain kinds of divergence can only end with leaving or death, truth be told. People in these bodies know this, even if the digital bodies behave as if there is hope in a future where the divergence brings joy to one’s life consistently. The shared vulnerability itself then, is unbearable. I need you to see me, I need you, who are just like me at my worst, to love me. When you do, I can’t stand it. It ruins both of us to be seen this way and we need it so desperately. It has to exist and yet it can’t for long.</p>
<p>I leave even though I love all of your digital bodies. I leave because I love you, little digital body and you are me.</p>
<h2id="a-life-to-be-had11">2. A LIFE TO BE HAD<sup>11</sup></h2>
<divclass="fake-margin-note">
<p>Was this the end of this story? In the epilogue, you sit your body
down and enter your computer. The air coming in from the window smells
wet and earthy, new. The sun shines low on the horizon. You log in to
the internet and realize you are being told a story. You start to
listen, carefully and, full of love, touch the story to let it know you
are there. Delicate-fingered, curious like a child holding a fallen
bird. I hold you and the story tentatively.</p>
<p>I don’t know if I am touching you, to tell you the truth. Digital
bodies are stories, like physical bodies are, like dreams are, and like
water is.</p>
<p>Stories that are hard to tell and hard to hear and even more, maybe,
hard to understand. I have loved these stories and I have loved telling
them to you. I hope you understand that my goal was for you to live
these questions, to feel these stories in their confusion. My digital
body, my bot-feelings, my divergent communities. I have given them to
you, so they may live longer, like an obsolete but beloved cyborg shown
in a museum.</p>
<p>Look: I was here, Look: I was loved, Look: I was saved.</p>
<p>The digital bodies that kept me alive, kept me from becoming fully a
machine are no longer around in these online rooms. They are in
different places, being touched by tentative hands, being loved for more
than their divergence. I am too.</p>
<p>The rooms, the backplaces, however, are still full of others,
divergent digital bodies who did not leave, who keep caring for each
other at the bottom of the whirlpool. There is no happy ending because
there is no ending. They keep typing and hoping, writing their
collective pain down on keyboards that transmit love letters to each
other. I am not embarrassed by my care for you, but you may be so if it
helps. I know how overwhelming intimacy can be.</p>
<p>Telling you these stories was important for me, so much so that I
will tell you so many more in a different place if you wish to listen to
me longer. With this story, I dreamt of a digital body for you. It came
from an ocean of dreams, into a primordial soup that gave it enough
shape to become wild rivers, deep streams, sound waves. It flooded and
now, it leaves. A digital body that grew its own feelings, looked for
others like it, and realized its divergence and the need to leave. A
dream body, a primordial body, a disruptive body, a divergent body, and
now, a leaving body. This last story, however, of the leaving and loving
body, is yet to be told.</p>
<p>The sun is now almost up, and the birds are alive and awake, telling
each other stories just outside the room. We don’t have so much time
left. I have made you something, to tell your digital body the stories
of the leaving and loving body. It is a webpage, the address is
<p><sup>11 </sup> Was this the end of this story?<br/>
In the epilogue, you sit your body down and enter your computer. The air coming in from the window smells wet and earthy, new. The sun shines low on the horizon.<br/>
</p>
<p>You log in to the internet and realize you are being told a story. You start to listen, carefully and, full of love, touch the story to let it know you are there. Delicate-fingered, curious like a child holding a fallen bird. I hold you and the story tentatively.<br/>
</p>
<p>I don’t know if I am touching you, to tell you the truth. Digital bodies are stories, like physical bodies are, like dreams are, and like water is.<br/>
</p>
<p>Stories that are hard to tell and hard to hear and even more, maybe, hard to understand. I have loved these stories and I have loved telling them to you. I hope you understand that my goal was for you to live these questions, to feel these stories in their confusion. My digital body, my bot-feelings, my divergent communities. I have given them to you, so they may live longer, like an obsolete but beloved cyborg shown in a museum.<br/>
</p>
<p>Look: I was here, Look: I was loved, Look: I was saved.<br/>
</p>
<p>The digital bodies that kept me alive, kept me from becoming fully a machine are no longer around in these online rooms. They are in different places, being touched by tentative hands, being loved for more than their divergence.<br/>
I am too.<br/>
</p>
<p>The rooms, the backplaces, however, are still full of others, divergent digital bodies who did not leave, who keep caring for each other at the bottom of the whirlpool. There is no happy ending because there is no ending. They keep typing and hoping, writing their collective pain down on keyboards that transmit love letters to each other. I am not embarrassed by my care for you, but you may be so if it helps. I know how overwhelming intimacy can be.<br/>
</p>
<p>Telling you these stories was important for me, so much so that I will tell you so many more in a different place if you wish to listen to me longer. With this story, I dreamt of a digital body for you. It came from an ocean of dreams, into a primordial soup that gave it enough shape to become wild rivers, deep streams, sound waves. It flooded and now, it leaves. A digital body that grew its own feelings, looked for others like it, and realized its divergence and the need to leave. A dream body, a primordial body, a disruptive body, a divergent body, and now, a leaving body. This last story, however, of the leaving and loving body, is yet to be told.<br/>
</p>
<p>The sun is now almost up, and the birds are alive and awake, telling each other stories just outside the room. We don’t have so much time left. I have made you something, to tell your digital body the stories of the leaving and loving body. It is a webpage, the address is https://vulnerable-interfaces.xpub.nl/backplaces/.<br/>
</p>
<p>You open the page, and you are asked to write the characters you see in a captcha.<br/>
E5qr7.<br/>
eSq9p.<br/>
8oc8y.<br/>
Fuck.<br/>
You try not to panic, but you know you have been detected.<br/>
</p>
You pack up your things: the pie I made you, a love letter, a hand made out of felt, a star, a door, a stuffed animal; and you leave again.
</div>
<h2id="thank-you">THANK YOU</h2>
<p>Special thanks to Marloes de Valk, Michael Murtaugh, Manetta Berends, Joseph Knierzinger and Leslie Robbins.<br/>
Extra thank you to Chae and Kamo from XPUB3 for the food and moral support in this trying time and to my other xpubini for being great and eating my snacks and gossiping.<br/>
But most of all I’d like to thank the people in the online communities I’ve met and loved, you were of course who this thesis was about. Thank you for saving me, I will always remember you.<br/>
</p>
<divclass="bibliography">
<h2id="bibliography">Bibliography</h2>
<p>Adler, P.A. and Adler, P. (2008) ‘The Cyber Worlds of self-injurers: Deviant communities, relationships, and selves’, Symbolic Interaction, 31(1), pp.33–56. doi:10.1525/si.2008.31.1.33.</p>
<p>Berlant, L.G. (2008) The female complaint the unfinished business of sentimentality in American culture. Durham: Duke University Press.</p>
<p>Chu, J. (2021) Looking for similarities across Complex Systems, MIT News | Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Available at: https://news.mit.edu/2021/jorn-dunkel-complex- systems-0627 (Accessed: 08 March 2024).</p>
<p>Deleuze, G., Boyman, A. and Rajchman, J. (2001) Pure immanence: Essays on a life. New York: Zone Books.</p>
<p>Goffman, E. (2022) Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. London: Penguin Classics. Hafner, K. (1997) The epic saga of the well, Wired. Available at: https://www.wired.com/1997/05/ff-well/ (Accessed: 01 February 2024).</p>
<p>Haraway, D.J. (2000) ‘A cyborg manifesto: Science, technology, and socialist-feminism in the late twentieth century’, Posthumanism, pp.69–84. doi:10.1007/978- 1-137-05194-3_10.</p>
<p>Hyacint (2017) Harmonic series to 32, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:<br/>
Harmonic_series_to_32.svg.</p>
<p>Kolcaba, K.Y. and Kolcaba, R.J. (1991) ‘An analysis of the concept of comfort’, Journal of Advanced Nursing, 16(11), pp.1301–1310. doi:10.1111/j.1365- 2648.1991.tb01558.x.</p>
<p>Leonard, A. (no date) All Too Real, https://people.well.com/. Available at: https://people.well.com/user/cynsa/tom/tom14.html (Accessed: 01 April 2024).</p>
<p>McGlotten, S. (2013) Virtual intimacies: Media, affect, and queer sociality [Preprint]. doi:10.1353 book27643.</p>
<p>Rumi, J. al-Din and Barks, C. (1995) ‘Story Water’, in The Essential Rumi. New</p>
<p>Schwartz, C. (2022) Lecture on Loneliness, Granta. Available at: https://granta.com/lecture-on-loneliness/ (Accessed: 08 March 2024).</p>
<p>Smith, N., Wickes, R. and Underwood, M. (2013) ‘Managing a marginalised identity in pro-anorexia and fat acceptance cybercommunities’, Journal of Sociology, 51(4), pp.950–967. doi:10.1177/1440783313486220.</p>
<p>Yun, J. (2020) ‘The Leaving Season’, in Some Are Always Hungry. University of Nebraska Press.<br/>
alt="WDKA- Winjhaven Building- February 2024- reading of act0 and act1" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">WDKA- Winjhaven Building- February 2024-
reading of act0 and act1</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/wijnhaven.JPG"alt="WDKA- Winjhaven Building- February 2024- reading of act0 and act1"class="half-image"/><figcaption>WDKA- Winjhaven Building- February 2024- reading of act0 and act1</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This project appeared as a need to explore potential bureaucratic
dramaturgies within the educational institution I was part as a student.
I was curious about educational bureaucratic mechanisms being driven by
smaller-scale paperwork struggles and peers’ narratives, stories and
experiences. However, unexpected emergencies - due to my eviction on the
31st of January 2024 - placed centrally my personal struggles unfolded
in parallel with the making period. I ended up conducting accidentally
auto-ethnography as the project was dynamically being reshaped due to
the material constraints of the bureaucratic timeline.</p>
<p>Talking Documents are performative bureaucratic text inspections that
intend to create temporal public interventions through performative
readings. I utilized the paperwork interface of my smaller-scale story
in order to unravel and foreground questions related to the role of
bureaucracy as less material border and as a regulatory mechanism
reflecting narratives, ideologies, policies.</p>
<p>Central element of this project is a seven-act scenario that
construct my personal paperwork story, unraveling the actual struggles
of my communication with the government. The body of the text of the
“theatrical” script is sourced from the original documents, email
threads as well as recordings of the conversations with the municipality
of Rotterdam I documented and archived throughout this period. I
preserved the sequence of the given sentences and by discarding the
graphic design of the initial forms, I structured and repurposed the
text into a playable scenario.</p>
<p>This project appeared as a need to explore potential bureaucratic dramaturgies within the educational institution I was part as a student. I was curious about educational bureaucratic mechanisms being driven by smaller-scale paperwork struggles and peers’ narratives, stories and experiences. However, unexpected emergencies - due to my eviction on the 31st of January 2024 - placed centrally my personal struggles unfolded in parallel with the making period. I ended up conducting accidentally auto-ethnography as the project was dynamically being reshaped due to the material constraints of the bureaucratic timeline.</p>
<p>Talking Documents are performative bureaucratic text inspections that intend to create temporal public interventions through performative readings. I utilized the paperwork interface of my smaller-scale story in order to unravel and foreground questions related to the role of bureaucracy as less material border and as a regulatory mechanism reflecting narratives, ideologies, policies.</p>
<p>Central element of this project is a seven-act scenario that construct my personal paperwork story, unraveling the actual struggles of my communication with the government. The body of the text of the “theatrical” script is sourced from the original documents, email threads as well as recordings of the conversations with the municipality of Rotterdam I documented and archived throughout this period. I preserved the sequence of the given sentences and by discarding the graphic design of the initial forms, I structured and repurposed the text into a playable scenario.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/call1.png"class="full-image"
alt="Act 2 “Call with the municipality about the rejection of my application”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Act 2 “Call with the municipality about
the rejection of my application”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/call1.png"alt="Act 2 “Call with the municipality about the rejection of my application”"class="full-image"/><figcaption>Act 2 “Call with the municipality about the rejection of my application”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/dereg1.png"alt="Act 7 “Confirmation document of my deregistration”"class="full-image"/><figcaption>Act 7 “Confirmation document of my deregistration”</figcaption>
<p>The marginal voices of potential applicants are embodying and
enacting a role. “The speech does not only describe but brings things
into existence”(Austin, 1975). My intention was to stretch the limits of
dramaturgical speech through vocalizing a document and turn individual
administrative cases into public ones. How do the inscribed words in the
documents are not descriptive but on the contrary “are instrumentalized
in getting things done”(Butler,1997). Words as active agents. Bodies as
low-tech “human microphones”. A group of people performs the
bureaucratic scenario in chorus, out loud, in the corridor of the
school’s building, in the main hall, at the square right across, outside
of the municipality building.</p>
<p>I documented and recorded these public acts and I re-created the
collectively voiced scenario. This audio piece is a constellation of
different recordings and soundscapes of these public moments, a vocal
archive, published in the graduation exhibition of XPUB in 2024.</p>
<p>I perceive the document as a unit and as the fundamental symbolic interface of the bureaucratic network. The transformation of the materiality of a document into a scenario to be enacted collectively in public aims to examine these artifacts and highlight the shrouded performative elements of these processes.</p>
<p>I see the collective readings of these scenarios as a way of instant publishing and as a communal tool of inspecting bureaucratic bordering infrastructures. How can these re-enactments be situated in different institutional contexts and examine their structures? I organized a series of performative readings of my own bureaucratic literature in different spaces and contexts, pubic and semi-public WDKA, Art Meets Radical Openness Festival in Linz, the City Hall of Rotterdam where I invited people to perform the play together, like a tiny theater.</p>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/AMRO_all.jpg"alt="Art Meets Radical Openness Festival – Linz, Austria - May 2024 - Reading Act 2 and Act3 in the tent"class="half-image"/><figcaption>Art Meets Radical Openness Festival – Linz, Austria - May 2024 - Reading Act 2 and Act3 in the tent</figcaption>
<p>The marginal voices of potential applicants are embodying and enacting a role. “The speech does not only describe but brings things into existence”(Austin, 1975). My intention was to stretch the limits of dramaturgical speech through vocalizing a document and turn individual administrative cases into public ones. How do the inscribed words in the documents are not descriptive but on the contrary “are instrumentalized in getting things done”(Butler,1997). Words as active agents. Bodies as low-tech “human microphones”. A group of people performs the bureaucratic scenario in chorus, out loud, in the corridor of the school’s building, in the main hall, at the square right across, outside of the municipality building.</p>
<p>I documented and recorded these public acts and I re-created the collectively voiced scenario. This audio piece is a constellation of different recordings and soundscapes of these public moments, a vocal archive, published in the graduation exhibition of XPUB in 2024.</p>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/gemeente_front.jpg"
alt="City Hall Rotterdam - May 2024 - Reading of Act 5 and Act 6" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">City Hall Rotterdam - May 2024 - Reading
of Act 5 and Act 6</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/gemeente_front.jpg"alt="City Hall Rotterdam - May 2024 - Reading of Act 5 and Act 6"/><figcaption>City Hall Rotterdam - May 2024 - Reading of Act 5 and Act 6</figcaption>
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The garden of Gemeente</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../aglaia/statue_garden.jpg"alt="The statue in the garden of Gemeente is reading the scenario"class="full-image"/><figcaption>The statue in the garden of Gemeente is reading the scenario</figcaption>
A reader holds a book in their hands. The first page of the book is
opened, the reader holds it to their face and smells the paper, touches
it. The book touches them back.</em></h5>
<p><strong>the book: (whispering in the reader’s ear)</strong> Being
vulnerable means being transparent, open and brave, trusting others to
handle stories with care. By publicly sharing and processing our
narratives, we take ownership of our experiences while contributing to a
collective voice. Even when we incorporate stories from others, our
names remain attached to this collective creation: Ada, Aglaia, Irmak,
Stephen. We have created interfaces highlighting the balance between
communal sharing, individual responsibility and awareness.</p>
<h5id="internal.-a-reader-holds-a-book-in-their-hands.-the-first-page-of-the-book-is-opened-the-reader-holds-it-to-their-face-and-smells-the-paper-touches-it.-the-book-touches-them-back."><em>Internal. A reader holds a book in their hands. The first page of the book is opened, the reader holds it to their face and smells the paper, touches it. The book touches them back.</em></h5>
<p><strong>the book: (whispering in the reader’s ear)</strong> Being vulnerable means being transparent, open and brave, trusting others to handle stories with care. By publicly sharing and processing our narratives, we take ownership of our experiences while contributing to a collective voice. Even when we incorporate stories from others, our names remain attached to this collective creation: Ada, Aglaia, Irmak, Stephen. We have created interfaces highlighting the balance between communal sharing, individual responsibility and awareness.</p>
<p><strong>the reader:</strong> Interfaces?</p>
<p><strong>the book:</strong> Interfaces are boundaries that<br/>
connect and separate. They’re the spaces that fill the void between us.
An interface can be an act, a story, a keyboard, a cake; It allows us to
be vulnerable together, to share our stories with and through each
other. I am a collection of these interfaces.</p>
<p><strong>the reader: (confused)</strong> What do you mean a
collection, like a catalogue?</p>
connect and separate. They’re the spaces that fill the void between us. An interface can be an act, a story, a keyboard, a cake; It allows us to be vulnerable together, to share our stories with and through each other. I am a collection of these interfaces.</p>
<p><strong>the reader: (confused)</strong> What do you mean a collection, like a catalogue?</p>
<divclass="xpub3">
<p><strong>the book:</strong> Yeah I guess. I weave the words and the
works we created during…</p>
<p><strong>the book:</strong> Yeah I guess. I weave the words and the works we created during…</p>
<p><strong>the reader:</strong> we?</p>
<p><strong>the book:</strong> …I mean the four of us, the students of
Experimental Publishing at the Piet Zwart Institute. From 2022 until
today, June 2024, we published three special issues together. We wrote
four theses and made four graduation projects. We grew our hair out and
cut it and grew it again and dyed it. We cared and cried for each other,
we brewed muddy coffee and bootlegged books.</p>
<p><strong>the book:</strong> …I mean the four of us, the students of Experimental Publishing at the Piet Zwart Institute. From 2022 until today, June 2024, we published three special issues together. We wrote four theses and made four graduation projects. We grew our hair out and cut it and grew it again and dyed it. We cared and cried for each other, we brewed muddy coffee and bootlegged books.</p>
<p>(The book tears up).</p>
<p>Finishing a Master’s is a bit of a heavy moment for us and this book
is a gentle archive, a memory of things that have been beautiful to
us.</p>
<p><strong>the reader: (sarcasm)</strong> do you have a tissue, im soooo
touched.</p>
<p>Finishing a Master’s is a bit of a heavy moment for us and this book is a gentle archive, a memory of things that have been beautiful to us.</p>
<p><strong>the reader: (sarcasm)</strong> do you have a tissue, im soooo touched.</p>
<p><strong>the book:</strong> malaka, just read me.</p>
<p>Wink is a prototype for an interactive picture book platform. This
platform aims to make reading into a mindfull and thought provoking
process by using interactive and playful elements, multiple stories
within one narrative and sound elements. Especially today where
consumerism and low attention span is a rising issue especially amongst
young readers, this was an important task to tackle. The thought of Wink
emerged to find a more sustainable and creative way of reading for
elementary school children.</p>
<h3id="a-prototype-for-interactive-childrens-literature">A Prototype for Interactive Children’s Literature</h3>
<p>Wink is a prototype for an interactive picture book platform. This platform aims to make reading into a mindfull and thought provoking process by using interactive and playful elements, multiple stories within one narrative and sound elements. Especially today where consumerism and low attention span is a rising issue especially amongst young readers, this was an important task to tackle. The thought of Wink emerged to find a more sustainable and creative way of reading for elementary school children.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/twine.png"class="half-image"
alt="“The twine map of text based story, reachable from Bee Within.”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“The twine map of text based story,
reachable from Bee Within.”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/twine.png"alt="The twine map of text based story, reachable from Bee Within."class="half-image"/><figcaption>The twine map of text based story, reachable from Bee Within.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Working as a children’s literature editor for years, I came to a
realisation that picture books were turning into another object that
kids read and consume on daily basis.</p>
<p>Working as a children’s literature editor for years, I came to a realisation that picture books were turning into another object that kids read and consume on daily basis.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/cg.png"class="image-95"
alt="“Click game story of the Queen Bee.”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“Click game story of the Queen
Bee.”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/cg.png"alt="Click game story of the Queen Bee."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Click game story of the Queen Bee.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Teachers and parents were finding it difficult to find new books
constantly or were tired of rereading the same book.</p>
<p>Teachers and parents were finding it difficult to find new books constantly or were tired of rereading the same book.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp33.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="“Example page from the print version of the picture book.”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“Example page from the print version of
the picture book.”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp33.jpg"alt="Example page from the print version of the picture book."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Example page from the print version of the picture book.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp3.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="“Example page from the print version of the picture book.”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“Example page from the print version of
the picture book.”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp3.jpg"alt="Example page from the print version of the picture book."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Example page from the print version of the picture book.</figcaption>
<p>As a young person in the publishing sector, I believe there should be
more options for children as there is for adults; such as ebooks,
audiobooks etc. But moreover a “book” that can be redefined, reread or
be interacted with… So I revisited an old story I wrote, translated to
English and called it, “Bee Within”.</p>
<p>Bee Within, is a story about grief/memory and it is based on my
experiences throughout the years. I erased it, rewrote it, edited it,
destroyed it multiple times over the past years; simultaneously with new
experiences of loss. In the end, I believe the story turned out to be an
ode to remembering or might I say an ode to not being able to forget or
an ode to the fear of forgetting which I now think is a great and sweet
battle between death and life. I think it is an important subject to
touch upon, especially for children dealing with trauma in many parts of
the world.</p>
<hr/>
<p>As a young person in the publishing sector, I believe there should be more options for children as there is for adults; such as ebooks, audiobooks etc. But moreover a “book” that can be redefined, reread or be interacted with… So I revisited an old story I wrote, translated to English and called it, “Bee Within”.</p>
<p>Bee Within, is a story about grief/memory and it is based on my experiences throughout the years. I erased it, rewrote it, edited it, destroyed it multiple times over the past years; simultaneously with new experiences of loss. In the end, I believe the story turned out to be an ode to remembering or might I say an ode to not being able to forget or an ode to the fear of forgetting which I now think is a great and sweet battle between death and life. I think it is an important subject to touch upon, especially for children dealing with trauma in many parts of the world.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp1.jpg"class="half-image"
alt="“example page from the picture book”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“example page from the picture
book”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp1.jpg"alt="Example page from the picture book."class="half-image"/><figcaption>Example page from the picture book.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp22.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="“example page from the picture book”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“example page from the picture
book”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp22.jpg"alt="Example page from the picture book."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Example page from the picture book.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp2.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="“example page from the picture book”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“example page from the picture
book”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/printp2.jpg"alt="Example page from the picture book."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Example page from the picture book.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Over the past two years, experimenting with storytelling techniques,
interactivity options and workshops with children and adults, around
reading and doing various exercises on Bee Within, I improved the story
to be a more playful and interactive one which can be re-read, re-played
and eventually re-formed non digitally to be reachable for all
children.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Over the past two years, experimenting with storytelling techniques, interactivity options and workshops with children and adults, around reading and doing various exercises on Bee Within, I improved the story to be a more playful and interactive one which can be re-read, re-played and eventually re-formed non digitally to be reachable for all children.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/improv.JPG"class="half-image"
alt="“a tag made by a participant in the public moment at XPUB studio. Trying to understand different approaches to certain emotions/states for a bee”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“a tag made by a participant in the
public moment at XPUB studio. Trying to understand different approaches
to certain emotions/states for a bee”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/improv.JPG"alt="A tag made by a participant in the public moment at XPUB studio. Trying to understand different approaches to certain emotions/states for a bee."class="half-image"/><figcaption>A tag made by a participant in the public moment at XPUB studio. Trying to understand different approaches to certain emotions/states for a bee.</figcaption>
alt="“From the event at Leeszaal West, experimenting with knots and poetry. How can we see movement in text?”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“From the event at Leeszaal West,
experimenting with knots and poetry. How can we see movement in
text?”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/leeszaalknotpoems.jpg"alt="From the event at Leeszaal West, experimenting with knots and poetry. How can we see movement in text?"class="image-95"/><figcaption>From the event at Leeszaal West, experimenting with knots and poetry. How can we see movement in text?</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/knotpoems2.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="“From the event at Leeszaal West. Some of the results of knotting text”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“From the event at Leeszaal West. Some of
the results of knotting text”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/knotpoems2.jpg"alt="From the event at Leeszaal West. Some of the results of knotting text."class="image-95"/><figcaption>From the event at Leeszaal West. Some of the results of knotting text.</figcaption>
alt="“A small sequence of onclick animation for Bee Within”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“A small sequence of onclick animation
for Bee Within”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/animationseq.png"alt="A small sequence of onclick animation for Bee Within."class="image-95"/><figcaption>A small sequence of onclick animation for Bee Within.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../irmak/45.png"class="half-image"
alt="“A screenshot from Wink!”" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">“A screenshot from Wink!”</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../irmak/45.png"alt="A screenshot from Wink!"class="half-image"/><figcaption>A screenshot from Wink!</figcaption>
<p>Public libraries are more than just access points to knowledge. They
are social sites where readers cross over while reading together,
annotating, organising and structuring. A book could be bound at the
spine, or an electronic file gathered together with digital binding. A
library could be an accumulated stack of printed books, a modular
collection of software packages, a method of distributing e-books, a
writing machine.</p>
<p>In the Special Issue 19, How do we library that? or alternatively
Garden Leeszaal, we started re-considering the word “library” as a verb;
actions that sustains the production, collection and distribution of
texts. A dive into the understanding structure of libraries as systems
of producing knowledge and unpacking classification as a process that
(un)names, distinguishes, excludes, displaces, organizes life. From the
library to the section to the shelf to the book to the page to the text.
The zooming in and zooming out process. The library as a plain text.</p>
<p>Like community gardens, libraries are about tenderness and
approachability. However, does every book and each person feel welcome
in these spaces? Publications are empty leaves if there is no one to
read them. Libraries are soulless storage rooms if there is no one to
visit them. People give meaning to libraries and publications alike.
People are the reason for their existence. People tend to cultivate
plants. Audiences tend to foster content. The public tends to enrich the
context. Libraries as complex social infrastructures.</p>
<p>Public libraries are more than just access points to knowledge. They are social sites where readers cross over while reading together, annotating, organising and structuring. A book could be bound at the spine, or an electronic file gathered together with digital binding. A library could be an accumulated stack of printed books, a modular collection of software packages, a method of distributing e-books, a writing machine.</p>
<p>In the Special Issue 19, How do we library that? or alternatively Garden Leeszaal, we started re-considering the word “library” as a verb; actions that sustains the production, collection and distribution of texts. A dive into the understanding structure of libraries as systems of producing knowledge and unpacking classification as a process that (un)names, distinguishes, excludes, displaces, organizes life. From the library to the section to the shelf to the book to the page to the text. The zooming in and zooming out process. The library as a plain text.</p>
<p>Like community gardens, libraries are about tenderness and approachability. However, does every book and each person feel welcome in these spaces? Publications are empty leaves if there is no one to read them. Libraries are soulless storage rooms if there is no one to visit them. People give meaning to libraries and publications alike. People are the reason for their existence. People tend to cultivate plants. Audiences tend to foster content. The public tends to enrich the context. Libraries as complex social infrastructures.</p>
alt="Cloud of cards with instructions to be performed on the books" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Cloud of cards with instructions to be
performed on the books</figcaption>
<imgsrc="card-cloud-leeszaal.jpg"alt="Cloud of cards with instructions to be performed on the books"class="image-80"/><figcaption>Cloud of cards with instructions to be performed on the books</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The release of the Special Issue 19 was a momentary snapshot of the
current state of a library seen through the metaphor of gardening;
pruning, gleaning, growing, grafting and harvesting. Garden Leeszaal is
an open conversation; a collective writing tool, a cooperative collage
and an archive. We asked everyone to think of the library as a garden.
For us, being a gardener means caring; caring for the people and books
that form this space.</p>
<p>During the collective moment in Leeszaal people started diving into
plotting, weaving words together, cutting words, removing words,
overwriting, printing, and scanning. It was magical having an object in
the end. A whole book was made by all of us that evening. Stations,
machines, a cloud of cards, a sleeve that warms up THE BOOK.</p>
<p>The release of the Special Issue 19 was a momentary snapshot of the current state of a library seen through the metaphor of gardening; pruning, gleaning, growing, grafting and harvesting. Garden Leeszaal is an open conversation; a collective writing tool, a cooperative collage and an archive. We asked everyone to think of the library as a garden. For us, being a gardener means caring; caring for the people and books that form this space.</p>
<p>During the collective moment in Leeszaal people started diving into recycle bins, grabbing books, tearing pages apart, drawing, pen plotting, weaving words together, cutting words, removing words, overwriting, printing, and scanning. It was magical having an object in the end. A whole book was made by all of us that evening. Stations, machines, a cloud of cards, a sleeve that warms up the book.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="open-bin.jpg"class="full-image"
alt="Bin of discarded books from Leeszal." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Bin of discarded books from
Leeszal.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="open-bin.jpg"alt="Bin of discarded books from Leeszal."class="full-image white-caption"/><figcaption>Bin of discarded books from Leeszal.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="people-bins.jpg"
alt="People choosing books from the discarded books bins, behind the instructions cards cloud." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">People choosing books from the discarded
books bins, behind the instructions cards cloud.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="people-bins.jpg"alt="People choosing books from the discarded books bins, behind the instructions cards cloud."/><figcaption>People choosing books from the discarded books bins, behind the instructions cards cloud.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<p><imgsrc="mint-scan.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="Page of the final book containing scans of the edited book, an instruction card, a pen-plotted bookmark with a quote from the book and a sprig of mint." />
<imgsrc="drawn-scan.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="Page of the final book containing scans of a drawn on book, an instruction card and a pen-plotted bookmark with a quote from the book." /></p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="pruning.jpg"class="image-80"
alt="Irmak’s and Aglaia’s Pruning station, where people edited punctuation and text, scanned it then printed it with a dot matrix." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Irmak’s and Aglaia’s Pruning station,
where people edited punctuation and text, scanned it then printed it
with a dot matrix.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="mint-scan.jpg"alt="Page of the final book containing scans of the edited book, an instruction card, a pen-plotted bookmark with a quote from the book and a sprig of mint."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Page of the final book containing scans of the edited book, an instruction card, a pen-plotted bookmark with a quote from the book and a sprig of mint.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="drawn-scan.jpg"alt="Page of the final book containing scans of a drawn on book, an instruction card and a pen-plotted bookmark with a quote from the book."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Page of the final book containing scans of a drawn on book, an instruction card and a pen-plotted bookmark with a quote from the book.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="pruning.jpg"alt="Irmak’s and Aglaia’s Pruning station, where people edited punctuation and text, scanned it then printed it with a dot matrix."class="image-80"/><figcaption>Irmak’s and Aglaia’s Pruning station, where people edited punctuation and text, scanned it then printed it with a dot matrix.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<p><imgsrc="hand-scan.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="Page of the final book containing scans of edited books, a hand and coins." />
<imgsrc="editing.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="Part of the Pruning process, the editing of a book page." /></p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="second-edition-open.jpg"
alt="Page of the second edition, containing scans of edited books and instruction cards." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Page of the second edition, containing
scans of edited books and instruction cards.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="hand-scan.jpg"alt="Page of the final book containing scans of edited books, a hand and coins."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Page of the final book containing scans of edited books, a hand and coins.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="editing.jpg"alt="Part of the Pruning process, the editing of a book page."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Part of the Pruning process, the editing of a book page.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="second-edition-open.jpg"alt="Page of the second edition, containing scans of edited books and instruction cards."/><figcaption>Page of the second edition, containing scans of edited books and instruction cards.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="binding.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="The binding of the scans into the final book at the end of the evening." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The binding of the scans into the final
book at the end of the evening.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="binding.jpg"alt="The binding of the scans into the final book at the end of the evening."class="image-95"/><figcaption>The binding of the scans into the final book at the end of the evening.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="final-book.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="The final book produced that evening, the cover was made from hand-stiched covers of discarded books." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">The final book produced that evening, the
cover was made from hand-stiched covers of discarded books.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="final-book.jpg"alt="The final book produced that evening, the cover was made from hand-stiched covers of discarded books."class="image-95"/><figcaption>The final book produced that evening, the cover was made from hand-stiched covers of discarded books.</figcaption>
<p>Console is an oracle; an emotional first aid kit that helps you help
yourself. Console invites you to open the box and discover ways of
healing. Console provides shelter for your dreams, memories and worries.
Face the past and encounter your fortune. Console gives you a new
vantage point; a set of rituals and practices that help you cope and
care. Console asks everyday questions that give magical answers.</p>
<p>Special Issue XX was co-published by xpub and Page Not Found, Den
Haag. With guest editors Lídia Pereira ♈︎ and Artemis Gryllaki ♐ we
unraveled games and rituals, mapping the common characteristics and the
differences between games and rituals in relation to ideology and
counter-hegemony. We practiced, performed and annotated rituals,
connected (or not) with our cultural backgrounds while we questioned the
magic circle. We dived into the worlds of text adventure games and
clicking games while drinking coffee. We talked about class, base,
superstructure, (counter)hegemony, ideology and materialism. We
discussed how games and rituals can function as reproductive
technologies of the culture industries. We annotated games, focusing on
the role of ideology and social reproduction. We reinterpreted bits of
the world and created stories from it (modding, fiction, narrative)
focusing on community, interaction, relationships, grief and
healing.</p>
<p>Console is an oracle; an emotional first aid kit that helps you help yourself. Console invites you to open the box and discover ways of healing. Console provides shelter for your dreams, memories and worries. Face the past and encounter your fortune. Console gives you a new vantage point; a set of rituals and practices that help you cope and care. Console asks everyday questions that give magical answers.</p>
<p>Special Issue XX was co-published by xpub and Page Not Found, Den Haag. With guest editors Lídia Pereira ♈︎ and Artemis Gryllaki ♐ we unraveled games and rituals, mapping the common characteristics and the differences between games and rituals in relation to ideology and counter-hegemony. We practiced, performed and annotated rituals, connected (or not) with our cultural backgrounds while we questioned the magic circle. We dived into the worlds of text adventure games and clicking games while drinking coffee. We talked about class, base, superstructure, (counter)hegemony, ideology and materialism. We discussed how games and rituals can function as reproductive technologies of the culture industries. We annotated games, focusing on the role of ideology and social reproduction. We reinterpreted bits of the world and created stories from it (modding, fiction, narrative) focusing on community, interaction, relationships, grief and healing.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="federici.jpg"class="half-image"
alt="Laser engraved quote from Silvia Federici, Love is the great magician, the demon that unites earth and sky and makes humans so round, so whole in their being, that once united they cannot be defeated." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Laser engraved quote from Silvia
Federici, Love is the great magician, the demon that unites earth and
sky and makes humans so round, so whole in their being, that once united
they cannot be defeated.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="federici.jpg"alt="Laser engraved quote from Silvia Federici, Love is the great magician, the demon that unites earth and sky and makes humans so round, so whole in their being, that once united they cannot be defeated."class="half-image"/><figcaption>Laser engraved quote from Silvia Federici, Love is the great magician, the demon that unites earth and sky and makes humans so round, so whole in their being, that once united they cannot be defeated.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="console-front.jpg"class="image-80"
alt="Screenprinted cover of the Console box." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Screenprinted cover of the Console
box.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="console-front.jpg"alt="Screenprinted cover of the Console box."class="image-80"/><figcaption>Screenprinted cover of the Console box.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="console-book.jpg"
alt="Screenprinted book cover of the Console Booklet, from The Upside Down Oracolotto card." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Screenprinted book cover of the Console
Booklet, from The Upside Down Oracolotto card.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="console-book.jpg"alt="Screenprinted book cover of the Console Booklet, from The Upside Down Oracolotto card."/><figcaption>Screenprinted book cover of the Console Booklet, from The Upside Down Oracolotto card.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="cara-ritual.jpg"
alt="Nighttime Ritual: Guided meditation from cardboardlamb" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Nighttime Ritual: Guided meditation from
cardboardlamb</figcaption>
<imgsrc="cara-ritual.jpg"alt="Nighttime Ritual: Guided meditation from cardboardlamb"/><figcaption>Nighttime Ritual: Guided meditation from cardboardlamb</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="youtube-tarot.jpg"class="half-image"
alt="Imagined tarot cards based on YouTube comments" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Imagined tarot cards based on YouTube
comments</figcaption>
<imgsrc="youtube-tarot.jpg"alt="Imagined tarot cards based on YouTube comments"class="half-image"/><figcaption>Imagined tarot cards based on YouTube comments</figcaption>
alt="Console box with Fiction Friction, Oracolotto, the Wheel of Fortune, a Worry Doll, tea and a tealight." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Console box with Fiction Friction,
Oracolotto, the Wheel of Fortune, a Worry Doll, tea and a
tealight.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="oracolotto.jpg"alt="Reading with the Oracolotto cards."class="half-image"/><figcaption>Reading with the Oracolotto cards.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="fiction-friction.jpg" class="half-image"
alt="Fiction Friction gameplay during the launch at Page Not Found." />
<figcaption aria-hidden="true">Fiction Friction gameplay during the
launch at Page Not Found.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="console-open.jpg"alt="Console box with Fiction Friction, Oracolotto, the Wheel of Fortune, a Worry Doll, tea and a tealight."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Console box with Fiction Friction, Oracolotto, the Wheel of Fortune, a Worry Doll, tea and a tealight.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="fiction-friction.jpg"alt="Fiction Friction gameplay during the launch at Page Not Found."class="half-image"/><figcaption>Fiction Friction gameplay during the launch at Page Not Found.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="license-reading.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="SIXX Licence reading ceremony at Page Not Found. The copyleft licence for this object included (in additional permission 4b) a term specifying the ritual absorption of intellectual property." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">SIXX Licence reading ceremony at Page Not
Found. The copyleft licence for this object included (in additional
permission 4b) a term specifying the ritual absorption of intellectual
property.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="license-reading.jpg"alt="SIXX Licence reading ceremony at Page Not Found. The copyleft licence for this object included (in additional permission 4b) a term specifying the ritual absorption of intellectual property."class="image-95"/><figcaption>SIXX Licence reading ceremony at Page Not Found. The copyleft licence for this object included (in additional permission 4b) a term specifying the ritual absorption of intellectual property.</figcaption>
<p>why shd it only make use of the tips of the fingers as contact points
of flowing multi directional creativity. If I invented a word placing
machine, an “expression-scriber,” if you will, then I would have a kind
of instrument into which I could step & sit or sprawl or hang &
use not only my fingers to make words express feelings but elbows, feet,
head, behind, and all the sounds I wanted, screams, grunts, taps,
itches, I’d have magnetically recorded, at the same time, &
translated into word or perhaps even the final xpressed thought/feeling
wd not be merely word or sheet, but itself, the xpression, three
dimensional-able to be touched, or tasted or felt, or entered, or heard
or carried like a speaking singing constantly communicating charm. A
typewriter is corny!!</p>
<p>Amiri Baraka, Technology & Ethos,
http://www.soulsista.com/titanic/baraka.html</p>
<p>why shd it only make use of the tips of the fingers as contact points of flowing multi directional creativity. If I invented a word placing machine, an “expression-scriber,” if you will, then I would have a kind of instrument into which I could step & sit or sprawl or hang & use not only my fingers to make words express feelings but elbows, feet, head, behind, and all the sounds I wanted, screams, grunts, taps, itches, I’d have magnetically recorded, at the same time, & translated into word or perhaps even the final xpressed thought/feeling wd not be merely word or sheet, but itself, the xpression, three dimensional-able to be touched, or tasted or felt, or entered, or heard or carried like a speaking singing constantly communicating charm. A typewriter is corny!!</p>
<p>Amiri Baraka, Technology & Ethos, http://www.soulsista.com/titanic/baraka.html</p>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="TTY.jpg"
alt="An inscription performance using the TeleType Model 33 and a 40m stairwell." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">An inscription performance using the
TeleType Model 33 and a 40m stairwell.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="TTY.jpg"alt="An inscription performance using the TeleType Model 33 and a 40m stairwell."/><figcaption>An inscription performance using the TeleType Model 33 and a 40m stairwell.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="stairs_concrete.jpg"class="half-image"
alt="A reading and writing of poetry using pedestrians and vinyl quotes." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">A reading and writing of poetry using
pedestrians and vinyl quotes.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="stairs_concrete.jpg"alt="A reading and writing of poetry using pedestrians and vinyl quotes."class="image-80"/><figcaption>A reading and writing of poetry using pedestrians and vinyl quotes.</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This issue started from a single technical object: a Model 33
Teletype machine. The teletype is the meeting point between typewriters
and computer interfaces, a first automated translator of letters into
bits. Equipped with a keyboard, a transmitter and a punchcard
read-writer, it is a historical link between early transmission
technology such as the telegraph and the Internet of today. Under the
administration of our kubernētēs, Martino Morandi, each week hosted a
guest contributor who joined us in unfolding the many cultural and
technical layers that we found stratified in such a machine, reading
them as questions to our contemporary involvements with computing and
with networks.</p>
<p>The format of the issue consisted of on an on-going publishing
arrangement, constantly re-considered and escaping definition at every
point in spacetime, a sort of Exquisite Corpse Network. It evaded
naming, location, and explanation; the Briki, the Breadbrick, the Worm
Blob. A plan to release weekly bricks was wattled by a shared
understanding of time into something more complex in structure, less
structured in complexity.</p>
<hr/>
<p>This issue started from a single technical object: a Model 33 Teletype machine. The teletype is the meeting point between typewriters and computer interfaces, a first automated translator of letters into bits. Equipped with a keyboard, a transmitter and a punchcard read-writer, it is a historical link between early transmission technology such as the telegraph and the Internet of today. Under the administration of our kubernētēs, Martino Morandi, each week hosted a guest contributor who joined us in unfolding the many cultural and technical layers that we found stratified in such a machine, reading them as questions to our contemporary involvements with computing and with networks.</p>
<p>The format of the issue consisted of on an on-going publishing arrangement, constantly re-considered and escaping definition at every point in spacetime, a sort of Exquisite Corpse Network. It evaded naming, location, and explanation; the Briki, the Breadbrick, the Worm Blob. A plan to release weekly bricks was wattled by a shared understanding of time into something more complex in structure, less structured in complexity.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="tape.jpg"class="full-image"
alt="punchtape read-writer of Teletype Machine" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">punchtape read-writer of Teletype
Machine</figcaption>
<imgsrc="tape.jpg"alt="punchtape read-writer of Teletype Machine"class="full-image"/><figcaption>punchtape read-writer of Teletype Machine</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<figure>
<imgsrc="callme_bike.jpeg"
alt="I’ve fallen in love with you and I have no idea what to do about it. Phone cards inviting participation in “Hey Babe”." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">I’ve fallen in love with you and I have
no idea what to do about it. Phone cards inviting participation in “Hey
Babe”.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="callme_bike.jpeg"alt="I’ve fallen in love with you and I have no idea what to do about it. Phone cards inviting participation in “Hey Babe”."/><figcaption>I’ve fallen in love with you and I have no idea what to do about it. Phone cards inviting participation in “Hey Babe”.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="callme_window.jpg"class="image-80"
alt="Hey Babe arduino based telephone experience. Callers can listen to love stories, excerpts from conversations at the Houweling Telecom Museum, Rotterdam, parts from the documentary The Phantom of the Operator and a collective reading experience on binary systems, time, worms and pebbles." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Hey Babe arduino based telephone
experience. Callers can listen to love stories, excerpts from
conversations at the Houweling Telecom Museum, Rotterdam, parts from the
documentary The Phantom of the Operator and a collective reading
experience on binary systems, time, worms and pebbles.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="callme_window.jpg"alt="Hey Babe arduino based telephone experience. Callers can listen to love stories, excerpts from conversations at the Houweling Telecom Museum, Rotterdam, parts from the documentary The Phantom of the Operator and a collective reading experience on binary systems, time, worms and pebbles."class="image-80"/><figcaption>Hey Babe arduino based telephone experience. Callers can listen to love stories, excerpts from conversations at the Houweling Telecom Museum, Rotterdam, parts from the documentary The Phantom of the Operator and a collective reading experience on binary systems, time, worms and pebbles.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="calling.jpeg"class="image-80"
alt="Ada’s switchboard - a call between New York and Brussels" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Ada’s switchboard - a call between New
York and Brussels</figcaption>
<imgsrc="calling.jpeg"alt="Ada’s switchboard - a call between New York and Brussels"class="image-80"/><figcaption>Ada’s switchboard - a call between New York and Brussels</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<p>Initially, the week’s caretakers were responsible for collecting
materials from our guest contributions, which included lectures,
collective readings, hands-on exercises, an excursion to the Houweling
Telecom Museum, Rotterdam and another to Constant, Brussels. The
caretakers were responsible for recording audio, editing notes,
transcribing code, taking pictures, and making lunch. Meanwhile the
week’s editors were responsible for coming up with a further step in how
the publishing progressed, by adding new connections and interfaces,
creating languages, plotting strikes and cherishing memories. This mode
of publishing made us develop our own collective understandings of
inter-operation, of networked care and access, backward- and
forward-compatibility, obsolence and futurability.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Initially, the week’s caretakers were responsible for collecting materials from our guest contributions, which included lectures, collective readings, hands-on exercises, an excursion to the Houweling Telecom Museum, Rotterdam and another to Constant, Brussels. The caretakers were responsible for recording audio, editing notes, transcribing code, taking pictures, and making lunch. Meanwhile the week’s editors were responsible for coming up with a further step in how the publishing progressed, by adding new connections and interfaces, creating languages, plotting strikes and cherishing memories. This mode of publishing made us develop our own collective understandings of inter-operation, of networked care and access, backward- and forward-compatibility, obsolence and futurability.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="gesture.png"class="half-image"
alt="Gesture Glossary : how a body language is documented, how it expands, how it is capable of creating or enhancing identities." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Gesture Glossary : how a body language is
documented, how it expands, how it is capable of creating or enhancing
identities.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="gesture.png"alt="Gesture Glossary : how a body language is documented, how it expands, how it is capable of creating or enhancing identities."class="half-image"/><figcaption>Gesture Glossary : how a body language is documented, how it expands, how it is capable of creating or enhancing identities.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="strike.jpg"class="image-80"
alt="Wiki strike screenshot: embedding hidden comments in a wiki to highlight the invisible labour, to provide comprehensive details about our intentions and the underlying ideas while maintaining the wiki’s regular functionality." />
comments in a wiki to highlight the invisible labour, to provide
comprehensive details about our intentions and the underlying ideas
while maintaining the wiki’s regular functionality.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="strike.jpg"alt="Wiki strike screenshot: embedding hidden comments in a wiki to highlight the invisible labour, to provide comprehensive details about our intentions and the underlying ideas while maintaining the wiki’s regular functionality."class="image-80"/><figcaption>Wiki strike screenshot: embedding hidden comments in a wiki to highlight the invisible labour, to provide comprehensive details about our intentions and the underlying ideas while maintaining the wiki’s regular functionality.</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr/>
<p>Teletypewriters ushered in a new mode of inscription of writing: if
the typewriter set up a grid of letters and voids of the same size,
turning the absence of a letter (the space) into a key itself (the
spacebar), the teletypewriter finished it by inscribing the space in the
very same material as all other letters: electrical zeros and ones, that
were to immediately leave the machine. The Teletype Model 33, one of the
most widely produced and distributed text-based terminals in the 1970s,
introduced multiple technological concretizations that are present in
the computers of today as a sort of legacy, such as the qwerty keyboard
with control keys, the ascii character encoding and the TTY terminal
capability. We have created short-circuits that allow us to remember
otherwise technical progress and computational genealogies.</p>
<p>TTY was produced in april-june 2023 as special issue 21 with guest
editor Martino Morandi, and contributors Andrea di Serego Alighieri,
Femke Snelting, Isabelle Sully, Jara Rocha, Roel Roscam Abbing, and
Zoumana Meïté.</p>
<p>Teletypewriters ushered in a new mode of inscription of writing: if the typewriter set up a grid of letters and voids of the same size, turning the absence of a letter (the space) into a key itself (the spacebar), the teletypewriter finished it by inscribing the space in the very same material as all other letters: electrical zeros and ones, that were to immediately leave the machine. The Teletype Model 33, one of the most widely produced and distributed text-based terminals in the 1970s, introduced multiple technological concretizations that are present in the computers of today as a sort of legacy, such as the qwerty keyboard with control keys, the ascii character encoding and the TTY terminal capability. We have created short-circuits that allow us to remember otherwise technical progress and computational genealogies.</p>
<p>TTY was produced in april-june 2023 as special issue 21 with guest editor Martino Morandi, and contributors Andrea di Serego Alighieri, Femke Snelting, Isabelle Sully, Jara Rocha, Roel Roscam Abbing, and Zoumana Meïté.</p>
<figure>
<imgsrc="encoding.png"class="image-95"
alt="Encoding Convertor: the wacky world of character en-coding." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Encoding Convertor: the wacky world of
character en-coding.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="encoding.png"alt="Encoding Convertor: the wacky world of character en-coding."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Encoding Convertor: the wacky world of character en-coding.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="overlap.png"class="full-image"
alt="We have a bag full of planets, stars, our favorite moments, darkest fears, best intentions and worst feelings. Our bag is now in the middle, its ready for you to discover and see the networks of our minds, make knots in the middle or intervene with what we call is a collective memory of few xpubbers." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">We have a bag full of planets, stars, our
favorite moments, darkest fears, best intentions and worst feelings. Our
bag is now in the middle, its ready for you to discover and see the
networks of our minds, make knots in the middle or intervene with what
we call is a collective memory of few xpubbers.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="overlap.png"alt="We have a bag full of planets, stars, our favorite moments, darkest fears, best intentions and worst feelings. Our bag is now in the middle, its ready for you to discover and see the networks of our minds, make knots in the middle or intervene with what we call is a collective memory of few xpubbers."class="full-image"/><figcaption>We have a bag full of planets, stars, our favorite moments, darkest fears, best intentions and worst feelings. Our bag is now in the middle, its ready for you to discover and see the networks of our minds, make knots in the middle or intervene with what we call is a collective memory of few xpubbers.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="zine.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="This A6 zine is a sub-release created by three women sitting on the teletype machine thinking and performing" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">This A6 zine is a sub-release created by
three women sitting on the teletype machine thinking and
performing</figcaption>
<imgsrc="zine.jpg"alt="This A6 zine is a sub-release created by three women sitting on the teletype machine thinking and performing"class="image-95"/><figcaption>This A6 zine is a sub-release created by three women sitting on the teletype machine thinking and performing</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="hexalogue.jpg"class="image-95"
alt="Hexalogue booklet. A conversation for six voices is encoded and documented in a script." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Hexalogue booklet. A conversation for six
voices is encoded and documented in a script.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="hexalogue.jpg"alt="Hexalogue booklet. A conversation for six voices is encoded and documented in a script."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Hexalogue booklet. A conversation for six voices is encoded and documented in a script.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="publication.jpg"class="image-80"
alt="Publications holding tiny sub-releases during SI21" />
<p>Special Issues are publications thrice released by first-year XPUB
Master’s students. Each edition focuses on a specific theme or issue.
The themes tie to external events and collaborations. Students and staff
work together to explore these themes, rethinking what a publication can
be. Each edition culminates in a celebratory release party.The
structure, tools, and workflows are reset every trimester. This reset
allows roles to rotate among participants and fosters an adapting
learning environment. It provides a space to experiment beyond
traditional collaborative methods.</p>
<p>Our inaugural Special Issue was number 19, in collaboration with
Simon Browne. Garden Leeszaal was a snapshot of Leeszaal Library through
the metaphor of gardening. During the release, we invited participants
to engage with the library’s discarded books. We pruned, gleaned, and
grafted the books using pens, pen-plotters, scissors, and glue. Then we
harvested a book of our collective work. Garden Leeszaal was an open
dialogue. It was a tool for collective writing, a group-made collage,
and an archive. For us, being a gardener meant caring for the people and
books that formed the library.</p>
<p>The following Special Issue was number 20, assisted by Lìdia Pereira
and Artemis Gryllaki. Console was 20 hand-made wooden boxes. It was an
oracle and an emotional first aid kit to help you help yourself. It
invites you to delve into its contents to discover healing methods.
Console offers refuge for dreams, memories, and worries. It guides you
to face the past. You will then meet your fortune and gain a new view
through rituals and practices. It prompts everyday questions with
magical answers, asking: Are you ready to play?</p>
<p>Our last special issue was number 21. TTY was guided by kubernētēs
Martino Morandi and weekly guest collaborators. We started with a Model
33 Teletype machine, the bridge between typewriters and computer
interfaces. Through guest contributions, we explored the intersection of
historical and contemporary computing. The Special Issue evolved into an
ever-changing “Exquisite Corpse Network” chasing weekly publications.
Along the way, we created gestures, concrete vinyl poetry, phone
stories, and much more.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Special Issues are publications thrice released by first-year XPUB Master’s students. Each edition focuses on a specific theme or issue. The themes tie to external events and collaborations. Students and staff work together to explore these themes, rethinking what a publication can be. Each edition culminates in a celebratory release party.The structure, tools, and workflows are reset every trimester. This reset allows roles to rotate among participants and fosters an adapting learning environment. It provides a space to experiment beyond traditional collaborative methods.</p>
<p>Our inaugural Special Issue was number 19, in collaboration with Simon Browne. Garden Leeszaal was a snapshot of Leeszaal Library through the metaphor of gardening. During the release, we invited participants to engage with the library’s discarded books. We pruned, gleaned, and grafted the books using pens, pen-plotters, scissors, and glue. Then we harvested a book of our collective work. Garden Leeszaal was an open dialogue. It was a tool for collective writing, a group-made collage, and an archive. For us, being a gardener meant caring for the people and books that formed the library.</p>
<p>The following Special Issue was number 20, assisted by Lìdia Pereira and Artemis Gryllaki. Console was 20 hand-made wooden boxes. It was an oracle and an emotional first aid kit to help you help yourself. It invites you to delve into its contents to discover healing methods. Console offers refuge for dreams, memories, and worries. It guides you to face the past. You will then meet your fortune and gain a new view through rituals and practices. It prompts everyday questions with magical answers, asking: Are you ready to play?</p>
<p>Our last special issue was number 21. TTY was guided by kubernētēs Martino Morandi and weekly guest collaborators. We started with a Model 33 Teletype machine, the bridge between typewriters and computer interfaces. Through guest contributions, we explored the intersection of historical and contemporary computing. The Special Issue evolved into an ever-changing “Exquisite Corpse Network” chasing weekly publications. Along the way, we created gestures, concrete vinyl poetry, phone stories, and much more.</p>
class="ext">a few times</a>), using felt dolls to share our night time
theatre.</p>
<p><em>stephen kerr is a graphic designer or a musician or a very weird
and long dream.</em></p>
<p>Reading an email in a dream and you can hear the voices of every word you read. Or the one where you’re on a computer working, frantically typing, late, stressed, rushed. What about that dream where you had no idea how to do your job, everyone is going to know you’re a fake. In this project I have made spaces for us to share our dreams about labour, and through that allow conversations about our work, our working conditions, and the feelings we’re left with when we fall asleep each night.</p>
<p>For the past year I have spoken with designers, artists and makers finding out how they spend their time in everyday life, what they believe and how they feel. In our dreams we feel the weird bits the most: hmm a bit uncomfortable, ooh that gave me a fright, aah so, so sad. Through performances, online tools and storytelling, I want to hold these dreams together, to unite our experiences. Online I have made <ahref="https://stephenkerrdesign.com/dream/"class="ext">tools to gather stories</a> and <ahref="https://stephenkerrdesign.com/typing/"class="ext">tools to tell them</a>. I have facilitated <ahref="https://worm.org/production/opening-experimental-publishing-graduation-show-2024/"class="ext">group dream re-enactments</a> (<ahref="https://art-meets.radical-openness.org/2024/program/turning-off-the-internet-slot-1/"class="ext">a few times</a>), using felt dolls to share our night time theatre.</p>
<p><em>stephen kerr is a graphic designer or a musician or a very weird and long dream.</em></p>
alt="Keyboard of things designers have said. Our feelings about work." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Keyboard of things designers have said.
Our feelings about work.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../stephen/keyboard24.jpeg"alt="Keyboard of things designers have said. Our feelings about work."class="image-95"/><figcaption>Keyboard of things designers have said. Our feelings about work.</figcaption>
alt="Except “it’s ok”: my brother said that to me on the phone one day." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Except “it’s ok”: my brother said that to
me on the phone one day.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../stephen/keyboard26.jpeg"alt="Except “it’s ok”: my brother said that to me on the phone one day."class="image-45"/><figcaption>Except “it’s ok”: my brother said that to me on the phone one day.</figcaption>
alt="Re-enacting dreams about work at Piet Zwart Institute, Rotterdam." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Re-enacting dreams about work at Piet
Zwart Institute, Rotterdam.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../stephen/peecee.jpg"alt="Re-enacting dreams about work at Piet Zwart Institute, Rotterdam."class="desaturate image-45"/><figcaption>Re-enacting dreams about work at Piet Zwart Institute, Rotterdam.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../stephen/amro.jpeg"class="desaturate"
alt="Collective dream re-enactment at Art Meets Radical Openness, Linz." />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Collective dream re-enactment at Art
Meets Radical Openness, Linz.</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../stephen/amro.jpeg"alt="Collective dream re-enactment at Art Meets Radical Openness, Linz."class="desaturate"/><figcaption>Collective dream re-enactment at Art Meets Radical Openness, Linz.</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure>
<imgsrc="../stephen/dizzy.jpeg"class="image-80"
alt="Where do dreams come from?" />
<figcaptionaria-hidden="true">Where do dreams come from?</figcaption>
<imgsrc="../stephen/dizzy.jpeg"alt="Where do dreams come from?"class="image-80"/><figcaption>Where do dreams come from?</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>.</p>
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